Confessions of the Heart
by thiswaybecauseofjacob
Summary: Christine agrees to stay with Erik to spare Raoul's life. However, she may come to find that a lifetime with Erik is more than she would ever hope to have with Raoul. EC and RM No RaoulBashing
1. Rebirth of an Angel

**Author's Note: HEY PEOPLE! This is my first phic so please be nice! Ever since the first time I saw the movie, I immediately wanted to call up the director and ask him to redo the ending the way I wanted it to happen, so I wouldn't burst into tears every time i watched it. Well, that didn't exactly work out, so I decided to take matters into my OWN HANDS AND WRITE IT MYSELF! how do u like THAT Mr. Lloyd Webber! -silence- sorry bout that, i have my moments. -eats a cookie- ALL BETTER :) Anyway , read my phic and please review! and yes, i accept CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISM, as i know there are many things i need to do to make this story better. but please do not be overly harsh, as i am writing this for the simple purpose that i love writing about Erik and Christine (and sometimes Raoul..)**

**Without further adieu, please enjoy "Confessions of the Heart" (name subject to change...lol)**

**EDIT/ I redid this chapter, cuz i didnt like it much. Ithink it's better now. Enjoy! **

Erik sat on top of thesmall nightstandpositioned next to the bed, empty except for the small music box, hisone hand clasping the bed and the other caressing Christine's cheek. He smiled wickedly to himself at his undeserved triumph. He had won Christine, and now she was his, however unwilling it might be on her part. Three weeks from that day, right after the first and uncompleted performance of Don Juan, Christine had agreed to stay with him forever, and in return Raoul had been freed. Erik could still feel Christine's lips, pressed against his with such passion he felt it flow through his very veins. Erik knew she had only kissed him to free Raoul- of course, what other reason would she have for staying?- but she had done it with passion, which in itself was something special to him, for he had a feeling he would never get anything more out of Christine.

He turned to look at her, sleeping like a small child, with her beautiful brown curls draped seductively onto her silky ivory skin and the gauzy material of her nightgown he had made for her. He forced himself to look away, and stared at the silk and lace ceiling he had designed with his own hands for his precious Christine.

As he did every morning, he sat in loneliness, accompanied only by the sound of Christine's soft breathing. How he wished Christine would surrender to him; just once, he wanted to be able to hold her in his arms, and not feel her tremble beneath him. But so far, that showed no signs of happening anytime soon. She would drag herself around the house, just wandering around staring at the ceilings, never saying a word. She would clumsily bump into things every once in a while, and Erik would give a weak cry as he watched his Christine wearing herself away like this, but she would never cry out, but simply turn around and keep walking.

She was looking more frail and lifeless everyday, and when Erik would catch her eye he would see the emptiness that was there, just the same as the emptiness in his own. He did not want his love to have to live this way, but he couldn't force himself to release her, knowing she would run right back to her precious Raoul. But he had to find someway to make her enjoy living with him, but so far it had been impossible. He didn't understand, why was it so hard? He had once been her angel, her idol, and she had looked at him with the same love and adoration he showed her every second, so what had changed? Well, he knew the answer to that. He had taken her away from the one she really loved.

Erik's heart tightened as he thought about the fact that Christine would never love him the way she loved Raoul, no matter how much he tried to fool himself into thinking it. His face was hideous, ugly, beastly, and no woman would ever love him. In a way, he had given up hope weeks ago. He did not play the organ for her as he used to, as he saw no point since she was nothing more than the walking dead. He was no longer her angel, and he hated it. He wanted to see the sparkle back in her chocolate brown eyes, and her face light up when she would receive one of his roses. He had tried so many times to try to get her to forget about Raoul, but she would simply push him away and stride off towards the bedchamber to cry the day away. But today, he vowed he would begin to earn her trust, and her love. He slowly and quietly eased away from the bed so as not to wake Christine, who had not shifted once from her position. He carefully put on his porcelain half-mask, walking past the black lace curtains into the main room of his lair.

He looked around the whole of his labyrinth, trying to find something that he could possibly do to soothe Christine. Finally, his eyes rested on his organ, and he gave a small smile and strided towards it, stepping carefully over the stray sheets of abandoned music. He sat down at the gleaming cherry-wood bench he had constructed himself, and felt a wave of nostalgia as he reminisced on all the time he had played for her. Pushing away the old memories, he stroked the keys, then began to play. Today, he would be Christine's angel once more.

**XX **

**A/N: I know its short, but i dont want to stuff too much into one chapter. i dont know why, im just weird like that. please review! i wont have much time to update anytime soon...midterms :growling: anyways, i hope your enjoying reading this as much as i do writing it! **

**RR:)**


	2. Drunken Reflections

**A/N: K this chappy is gonna be from Raoul's POV, as much as I hate him I think its quite entertaining to write from his view, as weird as that seems. Sorry my last chapter was so short, this one should be longer.**

_Jamea: My first reviewer! thanks for reviewing, I really appreciate it._

**I know the last chapter kinda sucked, this one will be much better I promise you.**

Chapter 2:

Raoul's eyes fluttered open as he sat in silence, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the poorly lit chamber in which he then resided. He studied the room with his increasingly weary eyes, barely able to open them because of his exhaustion. There was a disgustingly large amount of mold and mildew growing out from every corner of the room, filling the room with a putrid odor of stagnant water and rot.

Knowing that damn Phantom, he would hardly have been surprised if the mold was not the cause of the vulgar aroma of decay. He forced back a gag as he thought of Christine, laying where he now lay, eyes blank and glazed over, her body pale and lifeless, just another victim of that hideous monster of a man.

"No, I will not let that happen to my Christine" Raoul's voice trembled as he spoke to the dark and dampness that surrounded him, hardly believing the words that came out of his own mouth.

He forced himself into a sitting position, dragging his gaze from the grimy , moist stone floor , now littered with empty expensive liquor bottles, to the once white and smooth sheets he had brought for a slight relief at night from the dampness and hardness of the floor, that was now covered with dirt, grime, and a mixture of lake water and liquor.

"I can't take much more of this", he whispered to himself. He instantly cursed himself for saying that. He would risk anything for his Christine. But in three weeks, he had gone from the handsome, charming, well-groomed Vicomte to a worthless drunk drowning his misery in liquor, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he had showered.

He grimaced and furrowed his brow as he slammed his fist into the hard stone floor, letting out a cry of frustration. He had been searching for three weeks! He had searched every passage, then every wall, every crevice, hoping to find a secret lever or some sort of contraption that would lead him to her, and that..thing!

He let out a resounding growl that echoed off the walls of the cavern he had discovered three weeks ago, about three hours after Christine had been taken away from him. He closed his eyes, tears flowing down his grungy unshaven cheeks, as the memories of that night came flooding back to him.

_He stared in shock as he witnessed his fiancé press her lips to those of that horrible monster in a more passionate kiss than_ _he himself had ever shared with Christine. He felt a wave of jealousy as Christine seemed to sigh under the power of his kiss, finally regaining herself and pulling back from his embrace. _

_His jealousy was immediately evaporated as he looked into Christine's_ _eyes, those of which were staring intently into the eyes of the man she had just kissed. Her eyes said everything that needed to be said. _

_Her eyes were pleading with the Phantom, begging him to release Raoul and let him go free, and in return she would give herself to him completely. Raoul couldn't let her do this! She had such a good life, she couldn't waste it for his sake! _

_There was a stifling silence in the lair, except for the sounds of the approaching mob, but Raoul was not going to get his hopes up by thinking they would find them. He had so many traps and contraptions that there was no way they would get down to the lair before the mob was killed or trapped._

_Finally Raoul broke the silence by pleading to Christine, "Don't throw your life away for my sake!" _

_The Phantom turned and glared at him, before giving the rope around his neck one last gigantic yank. Raoul felt the breath leave his lungs and he almost completely lost consciousness, but he could feel the restraints tied across his chest being released and the lasso around his neck roughly torn off._

_Through his blurred vision he could see Christine looking at him with sorrow for the life that was ahead of her, and relief that Raoul was not killed. Raoul could remember nothing after that except the CLANG of the steel gate as he watched it close in front of him, the metal gears locking into place. He grasped the bars of the gate, screaming Christine's name repeatedly, and getting no reply, he sank to his knees and began to weep. _

_He awoke two hours later and discovered he had blacked out in front of the Phantom's lair, and peered through the gates, unable to see anything but darkness. He no longer heard the mob, and figured they had either given up searching or been killed. _

_As the memory of what had happened only hours before rushed back to him, he had to choke back the sobs that threatened to surface once again. It was then that he realized he was freezing to the bone, and looked down and noticed he was completely soaked in lake water, having lost consciousness in the Phantom's lake._ _His teeth started chattering as he pulled himself up and sloshed through the water until he got to a dark passageway that was not submerged._

_He collapsed on the floor_ _and let the darkness envelop him as he took a few shaky breaths to calm his racing heart._ _He knew he had not been in the water long enough to get pneumonia, but he risked the chance of getting it if he continued wearing the soaking clothes that were chilling him to the bone. _

_Raoul stubbornly ignored this fact and began crawling on his hands and knees, knowing there had to be some other way to get into the Phantom's lair except by the gate. His tears were once again flowing freely now as he searched the floor for trapdoors or hidden switches. After about thirty minutes of searching, his foot caught on a metal ring sticking out of the floor, hidden by about 10 years of dust and mold. _

_His heart began racing as he tugged on the ring with all his might, struggling with it for ten minutes before realizing_ _that the passage had probably settled over the years, and the door was probably jammed. With this newly found information, he gave the door a hard kick, causing dust to stir and make him sneeze. The door would still not budge, and he prayed to God as he gave the door one last kick. He heard the door shift, and he gave one last pull on the door before he heard a satisfying 'click' as the door opened towards him. _

_A horrible odor wafted up from the room below, and he choked back a gag as he fought the urge to close the door once more. He frowned as he realized it was too dark to see anything below, and he had no candles or matches to provide light. Plus, he was freezing and knew he could not remain there much longer. _

_Making up his mind, he picked himself up from the ground, and closed the door carefully, giving it another tug to make sure it would open again. He made a mental note in his mind of where he was, making sure to remember the mold-covered lion statue standing against the left wall. _

_Knowing he would be returning soon, he swiftly left the underground labyrinth, going out the way he had come, careful to step over the trap he had fallen in when he had first come there._

_When he returned to the de Chagny estate, ignoring his maids' questioning gazes at his appearance, he packed everything he would need for about a month, not knowing how long he would be in that hell hole, knowing only that he would not leave until he had Christine by his side. _

_He spent four hours preparing for his long day ahead, locking the door of his bedroom so the maids and butlers would quit disturbing him. He packed an abundant amount of food and beer, knowing he would not drink much of the beer, but wanted to have it just in case. _

_He packed all his guns and swords, along with the sheets off his bed and two pillows. He retrieved a pack of matches and ten candles from the top drawer of his bureau, and finally feeling prepared for the long day ahead of him, he went into the bathroom to take a shower and change into warm clothes. _

_He went to bed without supper, feeling totally drained of all his energy, wanting to get all the sleep possible because he would be leaving at dawn. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows, sleeping in the bedroom that would have been his and Christine's to share._

_When he awoke the next morning, he ate two hard biscuits and a cup of hot tea, barely tasting any of it, then running outside to catch the carriage he had called for that would take him to the Paris Opera house._

_When he arrived, he was surprised to find the place abandoned, there were not even any police investigating the area or nosy passerbyers observing the destroyed opera house. He silently thanked God for this miracle as he slipped through the Rue Scribe entrance Christine had revealed to him on one of their evenings together. _

_He switched all his bags to one hand as he used the other to feel along the wall until he came to the lake, and paused to retrieve a candle from his bags. Quickly lighting it, he observed the many passages until he found the one with the lion statue in the corner, and snuffing out the candle he retrieved his bags and headed towards the passage._ _The trapdoor on the floor now stood out easily to him, and he stooped over to yank at the ring as it opened with a loud creak. _

_Setting down his bags, he once again lit his candle and lowered his hand into the room below so that the candle gave off a light glow that lit up the entire room below him._

_It was a cavern, one that looked as if it hadn't been used for about fifteen years. It was filled with dust and mold, but he figured it would be the best place for him to stay without getting sick or having the Phantom find him_. _He pulled his hand out of the room, and dropped his bags into the cavern before slipping inside himself. There were a few crates at one side of the room, and he pulled them to where they were stacked right underneath the trapdoor, so all he had to do was crawl on top of them to get out. _

_He quietly unpacked his stuff, putting his weapons in one corner, making his makeshift bed in the other, and putting his food he had stuffed into containers beside the bed. Feeling confident about his new home, he climbed on top of the crates and crawled out of the room, closing the trapdoor as he began his search to find Christine. _

It had been three weeks, and he had found nothing that led him to Christine. As he came out of his daze he pulled another beer and some crackers out of the food containers, preparing himself for another day of searching.

He did not know where he was planning on searching, as he had searched so much he could not remember which passage he had been down and which one he had not, and he was starting to lose faith. But he was a very determined man, and would not stop searching until Christine was back in his arms once again.


	3. Painful and Joyful Memories

**First of all I have to say THANK YOU SO MUCH! to all of you who gave me such great reviews. You all are truly the reason I am still writing this story inspirational music ok, enough sappy stuff. Lol.This chapter will mainly be Christine remembering her father's death and the first time Erik comes to her, with the chance of some slight Erik/Christine fluff, just as a reward for the fact that yall sat through a complete Raoul-based chapter, not that Raoul isn't a character deserving of his own chapter or anything.:loud cough:::Raoul glares at me because my cough disturbed him while he was checking his hair:. Lolol ok, no more Raoul-bashing. I promise. OOOO and if you people review, ILL GIVE U A BIG COOKIE! But if you don't, well, we won't go into that. (Mwahahahaha) ahem. Any ways. Onward with the story.** **Honestly I am too tired and sick to think off a title for this chapter, so until I can think of one, it will be called...:drumroll: CHAPTER 3! Stunning I know. **

Christine awoke to the sound of soft, gentle melodies being played slowly on an organ, accompanied by a soft soothing voice singing gently to the sweet notes. Her thoughts immediately flew back to the first time her angel had come to her, two months after that dreadful night her father had died, mere weeks after her father's hand had went limp in hers.

_She had pulled her hand back from his in fright as his hand went cold. She stared in horror as his chest stopped moving, and his eyes fluttered closed, never to open again. She sat in silence, not sure how to react. She had not believed it when Doctor Ruyle had told them he could do nothing for her father, that his life was in God's hands. She did not believe her father could be taken away from her. It couldn't happen! It just couldn't! She was only seven, children were not supposed to know such tribulations!_

_The tears started flowing before she even noticed them. She wiped them away quickly, not wanting Madame Giry to see her crying. Madame Giry had always been like a mother figure to her, but she had also always been strict, forcing her to be strong, to never show signs of weakness. _

_And she was a very determined little girl, and despite the fact that her father had just died in front of her, she would not disappoint Madame Giry. She fought back a case of the sniffles, and forced back the temptation to wrap her arms around her father's cold as ice neck, hoping to feel it become warm at her touch, and hear his voice smooth as silk, his coaxing voice soothing her into a gentle slumber. _

_She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of the sobs that were forcing their way up her throat, finally releasing them in a fit of tears, burying her head in her fathers chest._ _She heard Madame Giry's hurried footsteps and a whoosh of air as she hurried over to embrace Christine, kissing the top of her curly brown hair gently, as Christine turned her head and buried it in cotton material of madame Giry's coat._

"_I'm so sorry, Maman, I tried to be strong, I tried...Daddy..." She then collapsed in a fit of tears that soaked into Madame Giry's clothing, but Madame Giry merely clicked her tongue and put her hand underneath her chin, raising it gently until she locked eyes with Christine's watery gaze. Her face was red and puffy, her brown hair greatly disheveled, but she was still such a beautiful child. "Just like an angel.." Madame Giry thought to herself. _

_She held Christine's gaze, staring intently at her with her piercing yet gentle blue eyes, then gently whispered "At times, it is necessary to be strong and hold back emotions to protect yourself, but at others, crying is your only escape. You, child, do not deserve what has happened to you. You are an angel put on this Earth by God's good grace, and have been forced to undergo one of the most terrible things that could ever happen to a child. You, angel, deserve to cry." _

_And she did, she cried until she felt as if the angels were weeping with her, weeping with this pitiful angelic creature forced to have a horrible taste of hell at such a young age. Madame Giry brought her to her room so she could tend to her father, and she continued to cry while she laid on the cold wooden floor of their two room cottage. Finally, her tears subsided into heartwrenching gasps that wracked her body until she felt ready to vomit. Her life was over. What reason did she have to live now? Her father was dead. Her music was dead. And she was dying inside. _

_She gave a sigh as she remembered the last words her father had uttered to her, before he fell into a two-hour fit of coughing and wheezing before finally succumbing to death. _

"_Do not ache over me, Little Lotte, for when I get to Heaven, I promise I will send you an angel. An Angel Of Music. An angel so magnificent and grand in his power of music you will feel as if you are in heaven, listening to God's angels performing Heaven's song." _

_At these words her face had lit up for a brief instant, before the light once again faded from her eyes as she furrowed her brow and felt her eyes tear up. "But, you will not be there to share the glory of it with me.." He put a trembling finger to her mouth to silence her, and gave a weak smile as he let out a shattering breath. "I will be watching you from Heaven child. I will always be with you, I promise." _

_She had allowed herself to hope that his words were true, but when he stopped breathing, she forgot everything he told her, everything he had just promised, knowing nothing except that fact that she had lost her one companion. Her only enjoyment in life. Except her dear friend Raoul, of course. But this was her father! No angel could compare to her own dear father. _

_But she needed someone, needed someone to care for her, to hold her when she was frightened. Once again allowing herself to hope, she raised her sore, puffy face from the cold floor and listened carefully to the darkness, hoping to hear the faint sound of a violin being played softly, or a gentle angelic voice singing the lullabies of her childhood. Hearing only silence, she collapsed in a heap on the floor and submitted herself to the darkness which quickly engulfed her in its powerful grasp. _

_XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx_

_Her father's funeral was held three days later, and his corpse was laid in the family mausoleum, his casket laying directly across from Christine's mother. _

_The realization that she was now an orphan hit her shortly after the processions, while she was sitting quietly in the back of the carriage that would take her to her new home in Paris, the Opera Populaire. Madame Giry was going to take her in as her daughter, and she would perform in the Corps de Ballet along with Meg Giry, her best friend and soon to be sister. _

_Madame Giry had pondered at why the child did not wish to train to be a soprano, but upon hearing the girl while she was packing her things, softly singing a lullaby, she realized the child's voice no longer had the power it once had possessed. She had a nice voice, but its angelic qualities had vanished. She let out a soft whimper as she realized this poor angel was dying on the inside, slowly surrending her immortal soul to the pain and suffering of solitude._

_They rode to the opera house in silence, Christine_ _staring blankly out of the window of the carriage, admiring the way the snow fell, so gently and softly, forming a blanket that could cover the world and all its imperfections and sorrows beneath it. Christine wished she had that ability, to hide her sorrows from herself so she could escape this oblivion of sadness._

_As the carriage pulled in front of the exquisite Opera House, for a fleeting moment Christine forgot her sorrow as she gazed in complete awe of the grand Paris Opera house._ _The design was amazing, the entirety of the structure so eloquent in its grandeur that it took her breath away. Yes. This felt like home. _

_She piled out of the carriage, suddenly eager to see Meg and explore her new home. Madame Giry gave a small smile as she begged the child to be patient, grateful that this poor soul had a moment of release from the aftereffects of a loved one's death._

XxXxXx

_For three weeks Christine trained for the Corps de Ballet, practicing day and night, desperate for something to distract her from her pain, wanting to start a new life. But she was never good enough, she had no passion. Her steps were graceful yet too strained, and she would often daze off as she practiced, causing her to forget her steps. She had never been more ashamed of herself, yet she could think of nothing she could do to help her increasingly fading talent. _

_Finally, the instructor, stepping in for Madame Giry while she ran some errands, got so frustrated with Christine's lack of concentration that she ordered her to go to her dormitories until she learned the steps without falter. She had held back her tears until she got to her bed, then collapsed in a fit of sobs, just as she had done three weeks ago. _

_She cried for hours, never stopping until she heard a sound in the distance, very light and smooth, almost like a violin. She raised her head quickly, searching around the room for signs of...what? Her father? Her father was dead, she knew that. But, who was that playing the violin so beautifully, just like her father? Then she remembered...her father's dying words.. "Angel..." she whispered breathlessly to herself, then shaking her head as if trying to clear her head. _

_There were no such things as Angels of Music, she had trained herself to believe that. Knowing she was dreaming, she stepped hastily out of the bed, accidently stubbing her toe on the hard iron of the bed post. As she felt the searing pain that ran through her foot and up her leg causing her to wince in pain, she realized she was not dreaming. _

_She closed her eyes and let the music draw her to it, as the most powerful yet smooth voice she had ever heard poured through the walls of the room, enveloping her in its majesty_

"_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance..." _

_She felt her face light up in joyfulness, and she let out a laugh of sheer relief as she discovered this was her angel, this was the angel of music her father had promised to send her. Her father never broke promises. Not even in death. But she had to be sure it was her Angel, she had to know. _

With newly found passion and strength she opened her mouth to sing her reply to the stranger, _her voice matching perfectly with the melody that was softly playing on her father's violin, with her angelic voice that had found her once more._

"_Angel or father, friend or stranger, who is it there, staring?" _

_She waiting nervously for his response, holding her breath as she waiting silently while the haunting tune continued for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Christine let out a whoosh of air as he gave her his response, the one she had been eagerly hoping for._

"_Have you forgotten your angel?"_

_And from that day on, he trained her daily, giving her singing lessons that went on for hours on end, as neither of them ever grew tired of each others company. She never saw him, although Christine hardly thought it possible for her to see an angel at all. But she was totally comfortable with having an intangible being coach her, because she had grown to love him as a father, and yearned for their daily lessons after she returned from ballet practice. He taught her everything, and she felt her voice soar to new heights. She no longer pained for her father, no longer felt the horrible sorrow of his death, and was grateful in so many ways. _

_Because she had something she never thought possible to have, something she only read about in fairytales and in stories the preacher told at Sunday Mass. She had an Angel. _

**A/N: Sorry this chapter had no fluff, I think I might have got too carried away with Christine's memories, but I just couldn't help myself, I wanted to show what a hard life she had as a child and how Erik freed her from it. But yall probably all think it's wayyyyyyyy too much angst in one chapter,so I PROMISE I'll have fluff in the next chapter! Don't kill me:cowering: **


	4. Comfort and the Release

**A/N: K this chapter took a wayyyyyyyyy different turn that I thought it would,and after reading this you're probably gonna come chasing after me with pitchforks and torches. But I PROMISE you no matter what happens it WILL be E/C, so be patient and review! lol**

**Thanks to all the people who have reviewed to me so far(ok,so its only seven, but im really proud! I didn't think I'd get any reviews! So I am totally moved :teartear:)!**

_**Inspector: Review this chapter and you get ANOTHER cookie. Lol.**_

**Thanks to all the other reviewers who have inspired me to keep going with this story, although right now i have NO idea how I'm gonna end it...I'm open to suggestions! But it wont be over for a long, long time. I don't think so at least. Lol. Read and review!**

**Chapter 4: Comfort and the Release**

As Christine slowly came out of her memories, smiling as she remembered all the time she had shared with her angel, she noticed Erik was still playing. She recognized the tune instantaneously, and hurriedly sat up so as to hear it easier. Erik was singing softly to a tune he had composed just for her, a beautiful yet sensual song he had titled "Music of the Night".

She felt a tingle rush through her as she remembered the first time Erik had sung it to her, on the night he had seduced her into coming into his lair. She shook her head violently as a blush came to her cheeks. He had forced her into being seduced, she didn't choose to be! "_But you enjoyed it"_ a voice whispered in her head.

Of course she enjoyed it, she wasn't going to deny that. She had been totally captivated, completely in his power, unable to take her eyes off such a perfect angel. But her eyes had continued to drift to the mask, begging her to remove it, to reveal what was underneath. She frowned as she realized that that was where the magic had ended. Underneath that mask, there was nothing but a man. A horrible man with a twisted and tortured soul, but a heart full of love and consumed by desire.

And Christine had nothing to show him but her pity, which he did not want. He wanted her love, but she loved Raoul. She was in love with him, they were engaged, they were going to have a family! Christine felt the smile leave her lips as she realized that if she had married him, her life would be nothing but tea parties and boring conferences between royals, polo matches and foolish chitchat which had no meaning.

_No._ Raoul loved her, and he would give her his full love and devotion, and having that was worth it. But as she thought of spending a lifetime of love with Raoul, she felt no tingle rush through her, and she buried her head in her hands in complete shame as she realized she had shown more ecstasy when thinking of Erik than she did with Raoul. She forced herself to lay back down in the swan bed, refusing to go to him.

She would not betray Raoul, she was certain he would come rescue her. Someone was bound to find them, weren't they? She didn't entirely believe it, but she didn't care if no one EVER found them, she would not give into Erik's temptations. He was nothing but a pitiful man masquerading as a fallen angel. She didn't love him. She didn't.

But as the music continued to flow and he continued to sing with such beauty, she found herself unable to resist and closed her eyes, the music consuming every bit of her, soothing every muscle, every nerve, until she felt as weightless as the notes themselves. His music let out any emotion he was trying to convey, and she felt herself overcome with love and ecstasy as the words continued to tug at her heart, teasing it, trying to get her to admit feelings she wasn't sure if she had or didn't have for this angel. This man.

Oh for God's sake why couldn't he leave her feelings alone? Why couldn't he let her love Raoul and accept the fact that she did not love him? If she was not allowed to love Raoul, she would not allow herself to love anyone. That was final. But as the seductive words continued, she found herself more and more drawn to them, hanging on every word, hardly breathing because of the complete intoxication of the words:

"_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away, from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light..."_

Christine found herself standing in front of the black veil, preparing to push it back and go to Erik. Gasping in surprise, she ran back to the swan bed, burying her head under a pillow. She was being ridiculous! She couldn't go to him, and she wouldn't, it was as simple as that! Groaning in defeat, she realized she wanted nothing more than to hear her angel sing for her once more, as he used to every moment she was willing to let him.

She missed the way the music and the person singing it could both seduce and hypnotize her in a way that made her never want the music to stop. Finally, desire consumed rationality and she decided there was absolutely nothing wrong with simply going to listen to a few songs.

She hesitantly got out of the red satin sheets, and walked towards the black curtains which veiled Erik from view. She stopped when she realized she was wearing nothing but a satin nightgown, and felt heat rush to her cheeks as she ran to the closet to find a robe. Tying it tightly around her waist, she strode nervously past the black curtains, biting her lip when they made a loud ruffling noise that she was sure Erik had heard.

She spotted him sitting at the organ in the far corner of the room, which was a magnificent cherry wood structure that Christine was sure Erik had made himself. It was adorned with golden candelabra's, drawings of Christine, stray sheets of music and several little trinkets that seemed to be made by a true craftsman.

She walked trance-like towards the organ until the left side of his face was visible. She gazed wide-eyed at him as if seeing him for the first time. Christine let her eyes trail over every bit of him, wondering how he could have changed so much since the last time she had seen him, which was only a day before, then realized that maybe she simply had not noticed how perfect he truly was all along. His facial expression was gentler, easier than it had been over the past few weeks, and his lifetime of sadness seemed more apparent in the side of his face not obscured by the mask.

It was then that Christine noticed how handsome he really was. He had dazzling green eyes, one lighter on the right than on the left, and perfect black lashes that contrasted amazingly with his golden skin and perfectly arched eyebrows. He had a strong jaw line which contributed immensely to his masculinity, and the smoothest complexion she had ever laid eyes on. His body motions had a flowing, sexy gracefulness to them as his hands flew over the keys, which drew Christine even closer to him. He was perfect, despite the deformity of the right side of his face.

She knew what was hidden beneath the mask, and she felt a wave of compassion for this man and the unfair life he was forced to live, and bitter resentment towards all those who taunted him. It wasn't until she was standing inches away from him, gazing at the man who seemed now like a stranger to her, when he finally stopped playing.

He turned his head slowly towards Christine, finally locking eyes with her. Christine let out a gasp as she looked into his green eyes, which were now filled with love and compassion, and all the loneliness and sadness which was his life. She wanted to embrace the poor man, hold him until all his sorrows and trials had evaporated along with all his tears. _But this is the man that kidnapped you, then forced you to live with him forever, remember? Why would you show him compassion? _

She knew why, and it made her heart ache as she realized that she was the cause of most of that pain and betrayal in his eyes, in his heart. It was her fault he was the way he was! And all this time she had blamed him for her position, when it was her who had betrayed him in Don Juan, causing him to kidnap her in a fit of disbelief and hurt. She looked at him with sorrow in her eyes, pleading with him to forgive her for the torment she had put upon him.

There was silence between them as Christine opened and closed her mouth several times, not sure what to say, afraid that whatever she said would only cause him more pain. Finally, as tears started to fall down her cheeks she opened her mouth to speak, and whispered, _"Mon Dieu, _Erik, I'm so sorry.."

He looked at her with confusion in his eyes, searching her face for an explanation of her tears and her pleading expression. Not able to find an answer in her face, he softly said in a soothing voice, "For what?"

She closed her eyes and turned her gaze away from him, and whispered, "Everything I've ever done to you, you didn't deserve it". A wave of understanding hit Erik like a heavy blow, and he turned back to the keys before giving her his response. "Christine, sit down" he whispered, with pleading in his voice.

The tingling once again took over her body as she once again gazed at Erik, before finally sitting down on the bench next to him, careful that their bodies did not touch. There was an unknown feeling coursing through her blood, begging her to give into it. She didn't know what it was, and it scared her. The silence between them only seemed to heighten the feeling, as she silently pleaded that Erik start speaking before she completely gave in.

She felt his arms envelop her, and she whimpered as she completely succumbed to the warmth of Erik's body. She collapsed in his chest, the hot tears flowing down her cheeks unbidden, soaking the front of Erik's cotton shirt. She clutched the material in her hands, begging the tears to stop flowing, for she felt completely childish for crying in front of Erik.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks again as she pondered why it even mattered, when she knew perfectly well she despised this..monster! _Which perfectly explains why you're in his arms._

The voice in her head had an air of sarcasm, and she resisted growling at her stupidity as she realized it was right. If she truly didn't care, she would be sitting in her bedchamber, crying for her dear Raoul, praying that he come and save her from this... "Angel..." she breathed, not realizing she had said it allowed.

Erik's arms tightened around her waist, and she squeezed herself as tight against him as her body would allow. She could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest, and she knew Erik could tell, because she could feel his heart beating just as rapidly as hers. She tried to deny it, but she couldn't ignore how right it felt, laying in his arms as he embraced her with passion and warmth.

He kissed her lightly on the top of her head, whispering soothing words in her ear to calm her sobbing. Finally, her sobbing ceased, and she took several deep breaths before opening her mouth to speak again. "Will you ever forgive me for betraying you, angel?" she whispered hoarsely.

She felt him sigh against her, she had not called him angel since the night of _Don Juan_. Holding back tears of his own, he simply said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, "I never thought ill of you. I knew it was not your choice. No woman would ever love me, I should have expected it."

Christine pulled back from his embrace, looking into his eyes with disbelief in her own. "That's not true, you are the most perfect man I've ever met, you have a pure heart and an enormous soul, and amazing ears and hands for music and architect.Your torment is only given by those who are too foolish to acknowledge the man underneath the mask." And with that she grasped one of his hands in her own, and reached up with the other and removed his mask as he stared at her in utter shock.

In any other instance, he would have yanked his hand away and leapt to his feet, yelling for an explanation for revealing his deformity. But he was in too much of a state of shock, and merely gasped as she stroked the marred flesh with a tender hand. "And you are the most handsome man I think I've ever laid eyes on." She whispered with a small smile. At this his eyes darkened, and he pushed her hand away and turned back towards his organ. "Do not toy with me Christine. I know you are not blind, you can see the ugliness of my face just as well as all those who have tortured me for it."

He heard her sigh softly, and he turned to her once again as she held his face in her hands. " No, Erik. All I see is a man." He searched her eyes, but he could find no dishonesty behind them, and finally gave into her gaze, letting the tears flow down his cheeks. But his gaze hardened once more and he once again pushed her hands away roughly, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. Christine sat motionless, in complete confusion, watching him prepare their dinner, before deciding to speak. "Erik, what-?" He cut her off before she could even finish speaking.

"Do not try to ignore the fact that you still love the Vicomte. I knew you were trying to tease me by making me seem like your one love, paying me back for keeping you here, before pulling away and laughing at me for being such a fool, leaving me once again ashamed and heartbroken. So I simply took the liberty of breaking away first." With this he gracefully turned on his heel, suddenly becoming very interested in mixing the flour and water for the fish.

She stared at him, in open-mouthed shock. She struggled to find her voice, finally regaining it and whispering "Erik, I-" He cut her off once again, his voice wavering slightly before masking it again with his cold veil. "I can no longer live with your torturous games Christine. this taunting that seems to bring you such delight causes me more heartbreak than if you had left me with that boy. I have come to accept the fact that you do not love me Christine, and I-" He voice broke, and he had to swallow before continuing again. "You're free to go..to go live with your fiance. Now leave me." And with a slight flick of a switch along the wall the gate rose, and he dropped the bowl in his hands and it clattered to the floor, splattering its contents across the kitchen.

Christine, hearing the authoritative tone in his voice, knew it was not simply a plea, it was a command, so with trembling legs, she stood from the bench and began walking towards her bedroom to pack her things. This was what she wanted, but she had never felt more miserable in her life.

She heard Erik's sobbing in his bedroom as she packed nervously, packing all her clothes in first in the bag she had found stuffed under her bed, then hesitantly putting the twelve roses tied with a black ribbon that Erik had laid out on her dresser when he had awoken. She once again began to sob as she slowly walked out of the bedroom, then breaking into a run as she ran past Erik's bedroom, past the organ, past the gates. No matter how far she went, she couldn't escape Erik's sobbing from her mind, or the obnoxious voice whispering in her head that she loved him.

XXXX

**AHHHHH DONT KILL ME! ITS NOT THE END :cowers again under desk:**

**If you review enough...I'll post another chapter before Tuesday...**


	5. His regret and the Unexpected Visitor

**A/N: Okay this chapter is gonna be from Erik's POV! Yayyy! BUT! That doesnt mean this chapter is gonna be all happy and cheery. Quite the contrary, my friend..:secretive smile:** **its fairly short, but it doesnt matter**. **anyways...read and **

**Review! Review! Review! Review! Review!**

**Chapter 5: His Regret and the Unexpected Visitor**

It was over. It was all over. His music, his passion, his life. Everything. He had truly lost Christine, forever. God, he should have just let her go on the night of _Don Juan_. In the three weeks she had been with him, it had done nothing but prolong her suffering as well as his own, and he had known that eventually he would have to let her go or she would die. Not in a mortal sense, but her soul would be gone forever. So he had released her, and she had once again taken part of his heart with her, leaving the rest of it in pieces.

He slowly stood from the crumpled heap he had been seconds before, crying for hours after Christine's sloshing footsteps had faded into the darkness of his lair. The candles had all died out, and the lair was getting incredibly damp and cold by the second. The tears were still rolling down his face, but he no longer wiped them away, knowing there was only more to come.

Walking in a slight stoop, as if actually weighed down by his sadness, he slowly made his way to Christine's bedroom, roughly kicking the door open with the heel of his boot. All he wanted to do now was die, to lay down and never wake up. The pain of his mother's beatings, and the white-hot sting of the whip that licked his back every night when he had been in that accursed freak show, was nothing compared to the pain of seeing Christine leave forever.

He looked around Christine's bedroom, fresh tears already stinging the corner of his eyes. The room was a mess, as if Christine had been in a hurry to get away from him and the life she had been living. _"Who could blame her?_" he thought bitterly as he slowly walked around the room, fingering Christine's white hair ribbons laying scattered across the dresser that he had made for her, the only things left laying on its gleaming hardwood surface.

He frowned as he picked up a black ribbon from the dresser, completely out of place from the white ribbons. As he rubbed the material between his fingers, his eyes widened as he realized where the ribbon had come from.

"_My roses.."_ He whispered, his eyes softening and a faint smile playing across his lips. She had taken his roses with her. The memories of him and Christine embracing on his organ bench, her clutching onto him for dear life, came flooding back to him as he sank onto the swan bed behind him. He closed his eyes, reliving that one small intimate moment over and over in his head. Dear God it had been so...perfect. But that was over now. She was with her precious Vicomte.

The smile left his face and the hardness returned to his eyes as he crumpled the black ribbon in his hands, dropping it on the floor before crushing it with his shoe. The anger was rising inside him as he went into a heated rage, kicking things about and running from the room with burning tears streaming down his face. "She's taken everything from me! My music, my heart, my soul, and yet I can not think negative of her, cannot think ill of her in any manner possible. God what is wrong with me, why have you cursed me like this my whole life? What have I ever done?"

He was screaming at the top of his lungs, hardly knowing what he was saying, his words finally dissolving into sobs until he collapsed in front of his organ, and softly began to sing.

" _Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me save me from my solitude...Say you want me with you, here, beside you...You alone can make my song take flight..."_

He slowly stood from his position as he noticed the mirrors located right in front of him, mocking him, taunting the ugly creature reflected in its glassy surface. He quickly scanned the room, quickly finding what he was looking for. He picked up the cold brass candle holder in his hands, and taking a few seconds to get a firm grip, he took a deep breath and hurled the holder towards the first mirror he saw, screaming at the top of his lungs:

"_ITS OVER NOW, THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT!"_

He broke every mirror in his lair, finally dropping the candle holder and stepping over the broken glass, sitting down at his organ after relighting two candles on top of it. He began playing harsh and crude melodies, his hands flying over the keys, the lair echoing with violent notes that ripped through the whole of Erik's labyrinth. Every passage, every river, every cavern, every cave echoed with the intensity and power of Erik's music.

It overpowered even Erik, he was no longer playing, it was his music. His music had overtaken his soul, and all the emotions he had been holding back were pouring through his fingers as he continued to play until the tips of his fingers were raw and inflamed. The music surrounded him, suffocated him, went through him, it was the most strange sensation he'd ever encountered, and he wanted it to stop.

But he couldn't, his emotions wouldn't let him, they wanted release. The notes only became louder and harsher as Erik became infuriated with the fact that he was no longer in control. Finally his music quieted somewhat as the tears started flowing down his cheeks. God, make it stop! It was torture, this had never happened before!

What had Christine done to him? Finally, Erik let out a shuddering sigh of relief as his fingers stopped moving, and the horrifying music finally ceased. He had been playing for probably twenty-four hours, and he was sweating and shaking terribly. He had a horrible headache and his stomach was growling incessantly.

He jumped up from the organ bench, dashing as far away from the organ as he could get. He ran into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He closed his eyes, leaning against the door as he tried to calm his breathing. He slid onto the floor, dragging his knees to his chest so he'd have somewhere to rest his head.

He had almost drifted into unconsciousness when he heard a small splash from one of his passages. He was up in a flash, grabbing the Punjab from underneath his bureau and slowly slinking out of his door and into the shadows of his lair. He stalked along the wall, never stepping away from the shadows. As he reached the hidden passageway along the right side of his lair, he heard another splash coming up the passage.

He stood stock-still as the figure continued to slosh through the water, and Erik could tell by his ragged breathing that the man had been either running for a long time, or been drinking. "_Probably one of those damn police"_ he thought with a smirk. Wouldn't this be entertaining. He fingered the frays of the rope in his hands, the memories flooding through him of all the unsuspecting (yet not quite undeserving) victims of Erik's Punjab.

Although it gave him a thrill to think he would get to kill another person who no doubt deserved it, he could not help but think of Christine's face as she tied Raoul's throat with his lasso, and his grip on the rope weakened slightly before Erik pushed her out of his mind and focused on his prey. Christine was out of his life now. He had to move on. He had to, as impossible as he knew that was.

Finally, the idiot was not two feet away from him, sloshing up enough water to soak Erik's cloak, and he resisted the urge to kill him and get it over with. He must be patient, he wanted to wait until he got into the light of his lair, so he could see his face. He always loved seeing the face of his victims as he killed them, such unsuspecting fools.

Finally, when Erik's impatience was finally at its peak, the stumbling man sloshed into the light of Erik's lair, and Erik's mouth fell open in surprise as Raoul ran up the steps leading to Christine's bedroom, running all about the lair, mumbling incoherent phrases to no one in particular.

He ran around the room, back and forth, getting on his hands and knees, feeling along the wall, flipping through paper and stray pieces of music. Erik watched the boy silently, ten thousand questions flying through his mind at once.

He studied the boy, who was quite obviously drunk out of his mind, covered in scratches and bloody bruises, and his clothes were soaked and almost black with dirt and mud. His hair was straggly and had bits of cobwebs and soot. He saw that his pants were torn at the knees, as if he had been doing a lot of crawling recently. His hands were red and swollen, and Erik felt his heart go cold as he spotted the ring on Raoul's left hand, identical to Christine's. His eyes were wild and crazed, and Erik felt slight pity despite himself for this poor man that he knew was slowly losing his mind. Had Raoul been searching, living in his lair for three weeks, looking for him? Is that what had caused this boy to lose his mind?

"_Well, what a delightful honor, to be the cause of such a fool's insanity"_ he thought with an ever-growing smirk. There was no pity left in his eyes as he slunk away from his hiding place in the shadows, fearlessly stepping into the dim candle light of his lair. This boy would not hurt him, he knew, he probably would not even recognize him.

Raoul finally gave up and collapsed onto the organ bench, burying his head in his hands, and Erik froze as he watched Raoul's shoulders begin to shake unmercifully as he cried silent tears of defeat. Erik couldn't help but give a light snort at the absurd notion that this was the Vicomte de Chagny , Mr. High and Mighty, crying like a small child at Erik's organ.

But Erik's smirk vanished as he remembered he had been doing the same thing only minutes before, and felt heat rush to his cheeks as he slipped back into the shadows. He wanted to find out what the boy's purpose was for being there first, then he would kill him. He swallowed a few times, before opening his mouth to once again become the Opera Ghost.

"Who dares enter my lair, uninvited? What is it that you want from me?" he boomed, his voice echoing across the walls of the lair. He tried to stifle the snicker that threatened to surface as Raoul raised his head in shock, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling. _Such an imbecile._ _What in the God's name does Christine see in him_? His heart ached at this thought and he pushed it from his mind as he focused on controlling Raoul. "ANSWER!" he boomed, putting all the anger into his voice he could muster.

Raoul looked frightened, and his eyes widened in fear like a small child afraid of the dark. He looked down at his hands, as if he didn't quite know the answer himself. Then finally, a dawning look fell on Raoul's expression, and his face darkened as he no longer looked at the ceiling, but searched the shadows as if sensing Erik's presence.

"I've come for Christine." he muttered quietly.

**XX**

**A/N: SOOOO... you like? Review pleaseeee! I'll give u all a big cookie if you do!**


	6. The One I Left Behind

**I just remembered, I didn't do one of those disclaimer things did I? Well, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters, but if I did, I would totally own Erik. And he would be mine. Not yours. Or Christine's. MWAHAHA!**

**I apologize for the previous cliffe, I promise I wont have a cliffhanger in the chapter. Well, I take that back. I might. But Im not sure. Lol. But a verrryy special character will come into the story here! One of my favorites as a matter of fact. Anyway, read the story and review! playing hypnotic Phantom music thats it...you hear gerry? You hear him singin? He wants you to review for meee...revieewww... review! Ok im gonna stop now. Lol. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

_Inspector: As always, thanks for the great reviews, and as promised, you will get a cookie if you review this chapter. Lol_

**Chapter 6: **

Christine stumbled blindly through the dark passageways, soaked in knee-deep ice-cold lake water from her waist down. She stared glumly down at the once glorious wedding dress Erik had made for her, which was now sodden and would probably never be worn again. _"Such a pity, it really was a beautiful dress.." _she though as she pushed her way through the murk. She could see no farther than five inches in front of her face, and had tripped several times over numerous things submerged underwater, making her fall face-first into the murky depths of Erik's lake. The bitter taste of sewer would enter her mouth, and she would come up coughing and sputtering, too devastated to be embarrassed by her clumsy mishaps.

Fifteen minutes after she had fled from Erik's lair, she had abandoned her belongings in the lake, already too weighed down by her water-soaked clothes and the pain of what had happened only hours before. She had watched in float away in silence, before rushing after it in a fleeting memory of one of its contents.

With a sad smile crossing her lips, she pulled one of the roses with the black ribbons from the bag, and putting the rose behind her ear, prepared to close the bag until she noticed one of the roses did not have a ribbon. Frowning, she pulled the rose from the bag, studying its bare stem. "Roses really are such boring flowers without the ribbon..." she said absently before throwing the rose into the water, watching it float as she remembered the numerous roses she had received after her stunning performances, tied around the stem with Erik's signature black ribbon.

She turned away from the rose, and continued walking down a passage she had never seen before, hoping it would lead her out of this damp and desolate blackness. As she could see absolutely nothing, and she didn't know where she was anyway, she saw no point in remembering where she was and where she had been, and spent the following hours reflecting on what had happened.

She had been there in his arms, embracing him with all that she had, crying her heart out as she begged for his forgiveness for all the torment she had caused. She knew it would not be enough to repent for the loneliness and emptiness she had brought about in this poor man, but she had done what she could, expressing how highly she thought of him in his music, his architecture, his love..She had called him perfect! And she had meant every word, there was no doubt in her mind as she declared him the most perfect man she'd ever met. She would never have dreamed of saying those words if she had not believed them one hundred percent in her own mind.

Not that Raoul wasn't perfect, he was, but not in the same sense. He was handsome and wealthy, and full of love and devotion, but he was an aristocrat, a lover of fine things, a person who had never experience the pains of poverty, the fear of not being able to survive, or for all Christine knew, a the suffering after a loved one's death, for she was sure he was too young to understand his father or mother's death.

Christine had been through all of those things, but had always persevered through her music. Raoul, on the other hand, solved all of his problems with money, his brother's aide, or the comfort of the occasional liquor. He had never known music, or been too fond of it in the first place. He could not sing, his voice was dry and weak, therefore Raoul had no use for music. He considered it pointless and a waste of anyone's money to go watch people singing relentlessly for entertainment , and therefore had protested greatly when his brother decided to make him a patron of the Paris Opera House.

Raoul had told Christine this himself, completely unashamed that he was pouring his negative opinions out to a Prima Donna, a lover of music since childhood. It had been right after he had proposed to her, and they had sat on the roof, quietly chatting about future plans. He had boldly told her that she would have to abandon her life of singing once they were married, for no wife of his would be selling her talent of music to people for a price. Why, that was like selling one's self!

He had declared these things to a baffled Christine, rather taken aback by Raoul's possessive behavior. Christine had been rather irritated by his foolish hatred of music, telling him that singing was her career, and she intended to pursue it until she grew tired of the thrill of being on stage, which she knew would never happen. Raoul had stared at her in disbelief, as if thinking she would willingly give up a lifetime of singing just to be with him. Any of the other ballet rats would give up their careers for him, and Christine had been a ballet rat not too long before hadn't she?

But Christine knew Raoul would never have acknowledged her at all if she had still been a ballet rat, if her talent had never been recognized. She had foolishly ignored these things when they had been engaged, blinded by the love this man was claiming to have for her. But as she thought back on their time together, she knew it had hardly been anything other than lust. Raoul was determined to have a woman deserving of all he had to give, and he would not rest until he had someone who loved him unmercifully, who would give her heart and soul to him. And he had found that in Christine, proceeding to shower her in words of love and declarations of unending devotion and passion.

At the time, Christine had wanted nothing other than a lifetime of romance and passion, like she had read about in the novels her mother had used to read, which had become Christine's when she had died. She had been a silly teenager, wrapped up in her own desires and wants, while she ignored the one person who truly did love her with unending passion, who would die or kill for her, whichever she wished.

Raoul had been her romantic awakening as a teenager, but now, Christine felt nothing but dread as she realized she would have to go to him, marry him, and eventually start a new, royal life with the Vicomte de Chagny. She would be Vicomtess. At the time of the engagement, the idea had thrilled her, and she had hardly cared when she found out she would have to give up her life at the Opera Populaire. Raoul would be the same as if he were a knight in shining armor, saving his princess from the darkness of Erik's power he held over her.

At the time, his power had scared her. But now, as she thought of the fact that he had always been there, her only comfort and her only escape, had always been her one freedom, and the thought of his power sent shivers down her spine that were not caused by the chilliness of the water. Maybe she didn't have to go to Raoul. A life with him would make her miserable, and she was no longer afraid to admit it.

Maybe she could start a new life, on the outskirts of Paris, singing at weddings and funerals or small occasions like she had when she was younger. But how? She had no way to support herself, nothing to live on. And there would be no more of her Angel..There was no way she could return to Erik, as much as she found herself longing for his warm embrace.

What had happened to her? Days before, she had despised him, loathed him, wanted nothing more than to escape from him forever, never daring to look into his eyes. She had no longer considered him her angel, but she didn't think him a man either. He was a monster, a murderer, a person not deserving to be her angel.

But then he had looked at her with those eyes..and then she had realized it was all her fault he had acted the way he had, and she had been blaming him all this time for her suffering! She once again remembered their tender embrace, and a warm sensation overtook Christine as she continued to wade, now more slowly, through the freezing water.

Then she recalled him pulling away from her, claiming that all she said was a lie, saying that Christine had only said it to taunt him. At the time she didn't understand. She had been completely dumbfounded when he had pulled away, she had been so sure it was what he wanted, what SHE wanted even. But had she gone to far?

She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Of course she had. She always messed up when it came to Erik. God, why did he intimidate her so much? She began walking again, only to run into a cold, stone wall a few feet in front of her. Christine growled in frustration. This was pointless! She had absolutely no idea where she was going, and when she finally did find her way out, what would she do then? She wanted nothing more than to run back into Erik's arms and stay there forever.

She had never felt so warm and loved in her life while she was in his arms, not since her father had held her as a child. But this was different, she was a woman now, or close to it anyway, and she knew what she was feeling for Erik was not what a daughter feels for her father. But she was still too afraid to admit what she really did feel for him, so she turned around and began walking down a different passage.

She only walked for about an hour before she came to the passage which led to her mirror. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped up onto the stone flagging, squeezing the water out of her skirt with numb hands. She raised her hand to her head to assure herself that the rose was still there, and feeling the silky petals beneath her fingers, she dropped her hand and continued walking. She kept an eye on the floor and the walls around her, trying to remember where Erik's traps were placed along this passage. Christine was surprised to find that the passage was dimly lit. _That's odd_..she thought, as she looked around for lanterns or torches around her.

Finding none, she shrugged it off and continued walking. She had finally made it to her mirror and was just about to push in the glass, when she noticed something on the floor. Picking it up, she gave a gasp as she realized what it was. She fingered the slightly bloodstained strip of fabric in her hands as she turned around and began running down the passage, stopping in front of the hidden trapdoor in the floor.

Just as she thought, there was no more dust covering the trapdoor, and pulling on the metal ring, she found that it was no longer water-logged as it had been the day she had discovered it. She realized that the room had been the source of the light, as she saw a candle lit in the middle of the room sitting on top of a wooden crate. She looked down into the room as the horrible odor wafted towards her, bittered slightly by a hint of alcohol. She looked into the room, surveying the makeshift bed and the weapons in the corner. She gave a frown of disgust as she surveyed the dozens of liquor bottles littering the floor, completely nauseated by the fact that anyone would live like that.

She closed the trapdoor, picking herself up off the ground after wiping her knees, trying to remove the dirt now covering the front of her dress. _Not that it matters_, she thought bitterly. She turned and continued to walk back towards her dressing room, satisfied that whoever it was that was living in that cavern was probably some drunk who had probably already met his end in one of Erik's traps. She walked up to her mirror, and tapped the mechanism that turned the mirror inwards. She stepped out, and was completely horrified by the scene in front of her.

It was a disaster! She eyed the burnt paintings as the shriveling wallpaper with horror, knowing that her room was probably the least damaged in the whole Opera House. She ran with worry in her eyes to the side of her bed which had collapsed, and with a trembling hand reached underneath the bed near the head, hoping to feel the soft vinyl of her father's violin case.

Her fingers brushed against its silky surface as she gave a laugh of sheer relief. She pulled the case from underneath the bed, and opened the case to survey the violin for any damages. Satisfied, she put the violin back into the case, and stood to leave the room. She closed her eyes as she felt around for the door, not wanting to ever see that room again. It was too empty and dark, it had always been such a beautiful room, full of life(or flowers), but now it was lonely and depressing. It was too eerie.

She tiptoed down the hallway, as if afraid to wake some unknown spirit. She averted her eyes from the burnt walls and the damaged figurines, focusing on getting to the door and as far away from this place as she could get. Never in her life had she seen anything more morbid, and she never wanted to again. The place had always had some form of life moving amongst it, it was an opera house after all. But now, there was no one there but the shadows.

She finally broke into a run, stepping over broken glass and fallen furniture, running down the stairs as she had down so many times when she was late for ballet practice. She stepped over a collapsed step, thanking God that she had seen it. She really didn't want a twisted ankle to add to all the other delightful things that had happened that day. Finally she reached the door, and with a triumphant grin reached up to turn the knob.

It wouldn't open. She turned it over and over, twisting it left and right, fumbling with the locks, but it wouldn't open. She gave a disbelieving cry of anger as she beat against the door, begging it to open. Surely the police had had to come inside to investigate, what other ways were there to get in? She gave a groan as he leaned back against the door, and felt it give way behind her. She gave a cry of surprise as she stumbled out into the cold night air of Paris, quickly regaining herself and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air. She closed the door with a loud thud, then pranced down the steps, suddenly a lot happier than she had been since she left the lair. She still longed for Erik, but now was not the time to pine for someone she had just run away from.

She stopped when she reached the street, looking left, then right, wondering where in the world she was to go. Erik had specifically told her to "go to the Vicomte" so she was determined to do exactly...not that. With a stubborn grin she headed off towards the only place she felt she would be accepted. Erik had introduced her to him once before, and it had been under quite odd circumstances. He had grumbled something about running out of tea, and he had ordered Christine to put a cloak on and follow him. She had been confused, but also very curious as to where in the world he would go to get tea at three o'clock in the morning. He had taken her to where she now stood, standing outside apartment thirteen in the Rue de Rivoli.

She raised her hand to knock, dropping it quickly as she suddenly felt bad about the whole idea. What was she doing there anyway? She could simply return to Raoul's estate and start her new life. She scoffed as she imagined what a fun life that would be, before returning her hand to knock. She dropped it again, as another thought went through her mind.

What if she wasn't welcome? Sure Nadir seemed like a pleasant man, but he also seemed very busy, and had become very irritated with Erik on several occasions during his and Christine's visit. Deciding she didn't want to risk it, she turned to walk down the stone steps just as the door opened behind her. She turned in surprise, nearly colliding with the poor man.

She surveyed his familiar astrakhan hat, and the most dazzling jade eyes she'd ever laid eyes on. He was the strangest looking man she'd ever met, and she still found herself fascinated by him even though she had already met him. He looked at her with surprise in his eyes before surveying her himself, and Christine realized with a blush that she must look a wreck. She wrapped her arms around her body and her father's violin in a weak attempt to cover her drenched form, before attempting to open her mouth to speak. No words came out, and she realized her mouth was completely parched and her voice was completely gone.

Realization struck in Nadir's eyes as he gave her a polite nod, before standing back to allow her into his quarters. She walked in with chattering teeth, trying to thank him with her eyes. He seemed to understand, and went into his privy to retrieve a towel to dry her off. When he returned and handed her the towel, he led her to the couch where she gratefully sat down, towel wrapped around her, trying to stop her shivering.

He looked at her with kind eyes, and gently placed her violin beside the couch before turning and walking into his kitchen. "Mademoiselle, I will prepare you a cup of hot tea, and once you can speak again, you will tell me everything that led you here" he called over his shoulder, and Christine could only nod, finding it pointless and quite impossible to argue. She looked around the interior of Nadir's home, appalled at the striking resemblance to Erik's own home. There were afghans draped over the two European couches, both with the most elaborate and intricate designs Christine had ever seen.

She eyed the tapestries and elaborate furnishings of his living room with awe, her mouth slightly agape, unable to look upon the things without Erik's home flashing through her mind. _Although the Persian's home is much neater,_ she thought with a small smile.

Nadir returned shortly afterward with a tray containing a tea kettle, two cups, and some fresh pastries. He set it lightly on the table, pouring Christine a cup and handing her a pastry all in one fluid, graceful movement. _Just like Erik_, Christine couldn't help thinking. She pushed the thought from her mind and she gave a nod to Nadir as the best way of saying thank you she could manage, before greedily gulping down the tea and swallowing the warm pastry.

She swallowed the last bite of pastry, savoring the way the icing melted in her mouth and the warm dough slid down her throat. Finally, she opened her eyes to see Nadir, leaning back in a overstuffed chair across from her, studying her intently with his eyes. She jumped slightly in surprise. She hadn't even heard the man sit down! She felt herself blush as she wiped the icing from her mouth and set the cup on the tray.

"Monsieur Khan.." she began but was interrupted before she could finish. "Call me Nadir, I think we are slightly past the formalities" he said with a small smile. She nodded her head before starting again. "Nadir.." she said slowly, as if testing the sound of his name. "Please forgive me for intruding. I had nowhere else to go, and somehow I found myself at your doorstep. I could never find words to express my gratitude. And please forgive me for eating as I just did, I hadn't realized how starved I was." she finished with a slight blush, then looked down at her hands as Nadir continue to look at her intently.

"Christine, Erik obviously thinks...highly... of you, and therefore you are as good as family to me. I would never deny a homeless, soaked, starved, thirsty, and no doubt exhausted woman a simple cup of tea and a towel no matter how close to them I am. I must insist you stay the night, or you will certainly catch pneumonia." He gave a gentle smile as Christine let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, I promise you I won't be a trouble in the slightest. I'll clean dishes if you like, or perhaps sweep? Anything to repay you for your troubles." He merely shook his head, before declaring. "Tell me what Erik did to you to make you leave him, or be released, either of the two, and what led you to my humble apartment instead of the warmth of the Vicomte's estate. That, Mademoiselle, is all I ask."

She simply stared at him in disbelief, not sure where to start. How did he know about the Vicomte? Did he know she didn't want to be with him anymore. "C-call me Christine." she finally stammered. He let out a light laugh that seemed to soothe Christine's nerves. She finally felt prepared to tell him, although she wasn't exactly sure how.

He waited patiently, knowing she would speak in time. He avoided the temptation to fiddle with his fingers, knowing that was the first sign that a person was growing impatient. Finally he jerked to attention as he heard her whisper, " I upset him". She looked completely depressed, and there was hurt in her eyes as she studied the tapestry on his back wall. He remained silent, knowing there was more. Finally, she took a deep breath and turned towards him. "He played for me. He hasn't played for me in such a long time, so I was lured to go listen to him, he really is such a talented musician.." she dazed off before once again continuing.

"When he finally stopped playing, he looked at me, and it was like the world stopped. There was so much sadness in his eyes, Mons- I mean, Nadir, I felt as if my heart were breaking. I felt his sadness, and I knew I was the cause of all of it. I couldn't even speak, I was so overcome with guilt. I managed to choke out that I was sorry, and he told me to sit down beside him. I did and,.." She paused, closing her eyes as she remembered his embrace. "He enveloped me in his arms, and I completely broke down and started crying. I asked him if he would ever forgive me, and he muttered something about no woman ever loving him anyway, so he couldn't blame me.

"I thought it was complete nonsense. I told him I thought he was the most perfect man I'd ever met." She stopped as she noticed Nadir's eyebrows raise in a questioning gaze. "And I meant it. I have never met a man like him, he's the most amazing person I've ever met. And I told him exactly that." Finally Nadir thought it necessary to speak. "Erik doesn't believe people can feel that way for him. I am guessing he got offended?" Christine gaped at him before speaking. "Yes, he got rather offended, he pushed my hands away, I had removed his mask you see? And I was touching his face, and- What? I told you I find nothing wrong with Erik. He is as much a man as you are."

"I never doubted that Christine. Continue."

She frowned before continuing. "So he pushed my hands away, and stood up to make dinner. I started to ask him why he had pushed me away, when he cut me off. He said my actions were meant to be taunting games, and he could take no more of it. So he said I could go..to live with the Vicomte.." The last word faded off until it came off as nothing more than a whisper, but Nadir heard it clearly.

"And why did you come here?" he asked, but already knowing the answer. Christine studied the rug, biting her bottom lip before choosing to answer him.

"Because I don't love him Nadir," she whispered to the carpet, closing her eyes as this realization struck her like a blow to the face. But Nadir was expecting that. He opened his mouth to speak. "And who do you really love, Mademoiselle?" he asked soothingly, forgetting that he had refrained from using formal titles.

She looked at him with sad eyes, the tears already threatening to flow.

She tried to speak, the first time her voice failing her. Finally, she managed to half- choke, half-whisper her response.

"The one I left behind."


	7. An Unpleasant Reunion

**You know what's weird? The more I watch Phantom of the Opera, the less I hate Raoul. I mean, I still love Erik, but I don't hate Raoul anymore. I think he's just too much of a lovesick puppy. But other than that, I have nothing against him anymore. Just thought that was interesting, no point in killing me :cowering from enraged phans:ahhh! Just read the story and don't kill me! Oh yeah, and review too.lol**

**once again thanks to all my reviewers, i love you guys!**

**Chapter 7: An Unpleasant Reunion**

Erik stared icily as Raoul stood from his position on Erik's bench and produced a pistol from behind his back. Erik gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain silent as Raoul pointed his pistol toward a point about fifty feet away from Erik's position, obviously under the impression that Erik was cowering in that very spot. Erik slowly crouched in the water, moving carefully to avoid making the water ripple or splash as he reached his hands underneath the surface. His fingers touched the cold, wet stone underneath the water, and he felt around for a reasonably large rock, or something he could throw.

His fingers closed around a rugged-edged stone just as Raoul fired his pistol toward the wall. He saw Raoul squinting as pieces of rock and stone fell from the wall of the lair, causing large ripples to course through the lake as they landed in the water. Erik took this as his opportunity to move, and crept along the wall and slid through the shadows until he was standing directly behind where Raoul had been sitting moments before, hidden only by the shadow cast by the organ.

Fighting back the urge to sigh in relief, he watched as Raoul sloshed through the water, inspecting around the place where he had shot, hoping to find Erik's body or some sign that he had been harmed. Finding nothing, he turned around quickly, pressing his back to the wall. Erik saw the fright in Raoul's eyes as he raised his pistol to the level of his eyes, slowly turning it so that it pointed towards the corner of his lair, once again squinting in the darkness, hoping it would improve his sight.

Erik saw the pistol trembling in the boy's hand as he lowered it to his side in defeat, closing his eyes as he started speaking with a hoarse and cracked voice. "Where is she, demon?"

Erik remained silent. Raoul opened his eyes and furrowed his brow as a bolt of anger shot through his body, causing him to let out a growl of frustration. "Answer me, you monster! I know she has to be with you here, somewhere, that's why I hunted you down! Now where is she?" His face was red with anger as he stumbled towards the middle of the lair, his hot anger melting what was left of his fear. He gripped his pistol with iron force, his hand growing numb under the pressure of his grip.

There was still silence in the room, and it was growing more stifling by the second. Sighing, Erik stuffed his lasso underneath his cloak as he strode from his hiding place in the shadows, revealing himself to the dim candlelight of his lair. It took a few seconds for Raoul to see him, but when he did he let out a weak cry and stumbled backwards, covering his face with his unoccupied hand. Erik rolled his eyes, having totally forgotten he had not replaced his mask after Christine removed it.

Feeling completely unthreatened by Raoul's weak attempts to murder him, he turned from Raoul and glided over to where Christine had dropped his mask beside their position on the piano bench. He felt the familiar tingle flow through his body as he reached to retrieve the mask, forcing the sensation out as he slowly applied it to his face. He once again turned to Raoul, smirking as he strode towards the cowering idiot crouched against the portcullis. Raoul lowered his hands as Erik continued walking towards him, and he forced himself to stand, leaning against the portcullis for support. Something was wrong with him. He could hardly stand and his insides felt like they were on fire.

But he had to get Christine before he worried about his own problems. He raised the pistol to its previous position, aiming it directly at Erik's heart. Erik didn't stop walking. He gripped the cold stone tighter underneath his cloak, unable to fight the growing smirk forcing its way onto his face. He stopped walking when he was two feet in front of Raoul, glaring at him with pure hatred in his green eyes. Raoul remained silent, the pain in his stomach and the utter fear of this demon forcing him into silence. Erik looked him up and down, frowning as his eyes came to rest on the wedding ring on Raoul's left hand, the one not gripping the pistol.

He reached out and grabbed Raoul's hand with an icy grip, turning it to where the stone glimmered in the dim light. Raoul didn't object, too weak to even attempt to protest. He dropped the hand roughly as he once again turned from the boy.

"You aren't even married to her yet, or have you not noticed she hasn't been with you for the past three weeks?" he spat, rounding once again on him. Raoul felt a smirk come to his own face, as he finally opened his mouth to speak. "But I will be, as soon as you're dead and she's released." He fumbled with the pistol until his hand rested on the trigger, and Erik tossed the rock towards the wall just as Raoul fired the pistol directly towards Erik. Raoul gave a cry of surprise as he stumbled backwards, the shot ricocheting off the ceiling. The rock Erik had tossed had caused the portcullis to rise, and Raoul's shot had been thrown off because he had been leaning against the portcullis and had therefore been forced backwards by the rising gate.

He gazed at his gun in disbelief, then shifted his gaze towards Erik as he felt hatred seep through his veins, throwing the gun into the lake. " You bastard! That was my last bullet!" He looked ready to lunge at Erik, and Erik merely grinned as he retrieved the Punjab from under his cloak. _If it's a fight the boy wants, I'm not entirely in the mood, so I'll make it quick._ He fingered the rope in his hands, waiting patiently for Raoul to make his move. As much as he wished to die at that point, he would never die in the hands of such a weak fop, and would be more than delighted to finish him off.

Erik felt a wave of disappointment as Raoul keeled over in pain, and emptied the contents of his stomach into his lake. Erik turned from him in disgust, shaking his head in something close to pity. "You're contaminating my lake, you fool." He turned back towards Raoul, and stood patiently waiting for the boy to finish retching. Finally, Raoul looked weakly at Erik, a slip of hatred still visible in his clouded eyes. "Please forgive me," he croaked with sarcasm. "I will clean out your _sewer_ as soon as I possibly can."

Erik simply smirked before walking away towards his organ. "See that you do," he said with a light voice, coated with fake sincerity. All he had to do now was wait. The boy obviously had hypothermia, and he would collapse from fatigue soon enough. The only problem was what he would do with him when he did. That would be dealt with later, he decided.

He began to play the harsh tunes of his beloved opera, Don Juan, and watched in amusement as Raoul covered his ears in a weak attempt to block out the sound. He only played for ten minutes before he noticed that the boy had completely collapsed, and Erik swooped down from his bench and approached the crumpled heap, bending down on one knee to survey the best way to move him. Finally, he grimaced in disgust as he lifted the unconscious boy and flung him onto his back, and was surprised that he was surprisingly light, as if he hadn't eaten healthily in a while.

_Such a fool_, Erik couldn't help but think as he carried the boy up to his bench and laid him down. He first flung an old musty comforter from his bedroom over Raoul before tying his lasso around his middle, then wrapping it around his legs. He did not want to risk Raoul waking up and trying to attack him, even though he had been the one who saved him. Once again flinging him across his back, he stumbled awkwardly toward the hidden entrance that Raoul had entered through, and walked for five minutes before turning sharply into a completely obscured passageway that Raoul had hopefully missed entirely. He walked down the narrow passageway, wishing that the walk would not take as long as it normally did. Finally, he came to his underground stables, and untied Cesar who greeted him with a warm whiney and a nudge of his wet nose.

Erik petted the white horse fondly before untying him from his restraints and pulling him from his stall. He slipped the horse some oats from the bin in the corner of the stables, then started to patiently prepare Cesar for the journey. He gently placed a saddle on the horses' sleek back, then roughly laid Raoul across it. He placed his foot in the stirrups, boosting himself onto the horse's back. He grasped the reins and gently led the horse down the passage, turning down another narrow hallway until they came to the Rue Scribe entrance. He coaxed the horse out onto the street, and taking a deep breath of air, began riding toward the Rue de Rivoli.

**XxXxXxXx **

Nadir continued to gaze upon Christine, gentle understanding etched into his jade eyes. She was staring at the carpet intently, obviously contemplating what had been said moments before. Did she really love him? She had been asking herself the same question over and over for the past five minutes, not sure if she wanted it to be true or not. She had already reached the conclusion that she did not love Raoul, and that was firmly set in her mind. She loved him as a friend, of course, but never as a lover.

But the fact that she loved Erik, her Angel, her guardian, was too much for her to accept. He had always been there for her since childhood. He had always protected her, but she had never thought that she would feel the way she was feeling, but as she thought back on their embrace, she found herself wishing to be back in that position, laying in his arms for eternity. But it was too late now, he had released her and forced her away because he thought she was lying to him. And she had not been lying. She had never been more serious in her life. But now, he was gone forever.

She forced a smile as she looked towards the Persian, and struggled to find something to say. Finding nothing, she looked back down at her hands and found herself extremely interested in getting rid of her hangnail. Nadir simply stood gracefully and took her hand gently, raising her up from her position on the couch. "You have had a very long day, and a lot to think about, so I think it's okay for you to rest. Besides, you'll be seeing Erik again soon enough."

With this Christine looked at him in surprise, and stopped walking as she searched Nadir's eyes for signs of what he was talking about. Nadir simply gave a light laugh and continued to lead her into a room she guessed to be his wife's, and she once again stopped to object about her intruding, completely forgetting Nadir's comment about her seeing Erik again soon. "You have been so terribly graceful to me, but you cannot ask me to sleep in your wife's bedroom. I don't think she would appreciate coming home to a girl she doesn't know sleeping in her bed."

Nadir gave her a genuine smile, urging her to come into the bedroom. "My wife will not be returning tonight, she is with our child at a party in Marseille that lasts until Tuesday, so you may stay however long you wish." Christine graciously thanked the man for all his trouble, before collapsing on the bed and rubbing her tired eyes.

Nadir gracefully slipped from the room after instructing her on where the nightgowns and chemises were located in his wife's bureau, as he said she would be more than willing to allow her to borrow them.

Christine closed the door quietly before beginning to peel off the soaking wedding dress, letting it pool around her feet. She stepped away from the dress as she shivered in the damp room. She wanted nothing more at that instant than to have Erik embracing her in his arms, taking away all the chilliness in the room.

She slipped a simple white nightgown over her head as she spent the next five minutes daydreaming, reliving their one intimate moment they had shared when she had not been completely hypnotized. Remembering the rose she had put behind her ear, she reached up and removed it, setting it lovingly on the oak night stand. She slipped underneath the warm cotton sheets, topped with a beautiful puce silk comforter. She couldn't help but feeling like a rich Egyptian queen as she slipped comfortably into the oblivion of a dreamless sleep.

**XxXxXxXxX**

Nadir returned to his study, hoping to finish up some business papers that had to be completed by Thursday. He knew it was futile, since Erik would be at his doorstep in probably about twenty minutes, as he always came to Nadir when he was stressed or upset. He decided he would not alert Erik to the fact that Christine was staying in his home, but he would let him find out himself. Because as much of a genius that Erik was, he could be rather slow at realizing the obvious. He had cleared away all of her tea-things, and hoped that Christine would not come out of her room when Erik came knocking.

He returned to his papers, and became completely immersed in the mess of numbers and claims that he didn't hear Erik knocking until he started threatening to tear the door down. Sighing, he stood from his chair and went to unlock the door before Erik tore it from its hinges. He opened the door slowly to find a red-faced Erik standing on his door step carrying an unconscious man tied up with the Punjab lasso. He recognized the boy as the famous Vicomte, otherwise known as Christine's fiancé, and he found himself speechless as he looked from Erik to the Vicomte, back and forth, while Erik grew more and more impatient. Finally Erik's gruff voice cut through his mind. "Daroga! Are you just going to stand there or let me in? If you haven't noticed, its about twenty degrees out here."

Nadir lazily stepped back from the door, allowing Erik to come into his living room and ungraciously throw the boy upon the sofa. "Well, aren't we going to have a party," Nadir said absently, knowing Christine would be out in a second to find out what all the fuss was about. Erik looked at him with a confused look, but quickly dismissed it as Nadir being his usual perplexing self.

Erik gestured with his arm towards the restrained boy on the couch, looking at him as if he were an unwanted stray dog that had wandered in uninvited. "Where can I keep him?" he asked bitterly, wishing nothing more for the Daroga to suggest that he have to sleep out on the landing. Nadir looked at him with an uninterested stare before turning to return to his papers. " I think I deserve to know why you have dragged this man into my house, unconscious and tied, before I allow him room to sleep. I am also curious as to why you have not killed him when he is quite obviously your enemy." Nadir turned to look at him, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Erik looked ready to give a very negative retort, but simply sunk into the plush overstuffed chair, closing his eyes as he finally allowed himself to relax. He knew Nadir would be patient with him, and he wholly planned on taking his time. Finally, he was completely relaxed and ready to tell his story. He repositioned himself in the chair, trying to find a comforting spot. Finally, he looked at Nadir for a moment before beginning.

"Christine left me. Well, I let her go, to be with the Vicomte, as much of a fool he is. After she left, I . . . got upset. After playing my organ for a long while, I went into my room and . . . sat on the floor. But then I heard someone splashing about, and instantly I got the Punjab and slid into the shadows. As soon as the bumbling fool came into the light, I saw that it was . . . him. I wanted to kill him immediately, but he looked pretty beat up and I wanted to hear his story first. But he was impatient, and would only demand to see Christine. And, of course I no longer had her. After a small..disagreement..the boy completely collapsed. I'm guessing he has hypothermia, and you're the only person I know who has the cure, as there was no way I was going to ride all the way to the doctor."

He finished his story before once again gazing at Nadir. He simply nodded, before speaking. "You did not answer my question Erik. Not that I am supportive of your murderous ways, why did you not kill him? He is your enemy, is he not?"

Erik looked away from him, staring with pure hatred at the restrained form of the fallen Vicomte de Chagny. He chewed the inside of his lip absently, before responding. "Christine loves him. And I can't take away the one she loves, no matter how much I hate him."

Nadir already knew this, and simply nodded in agreement once more before rising to tend to the boy. He began to untie his restraints, noticing the blue bruises it had already left behind. He laid the rope in a heap on the floor beside the couch, beginning to remove the dirt-encrusted shirt. Erik turned and swept from the room into the kitchen, suddenly craving some strong tea.

As he began to rummage through the cabinets, struggling to remember where the Daroga kept his tea and cream, he noticed the teacups already set out on a tray, along with some uneaten pastries. He would have dismissed it as the fact that the Daroga had simply been having tea, but he noticed that there were two cups set out, one cup nearly untouched and still full of tea, and his mind flew back to the Daroga's previous comment.

"_Well, aren't we going to have a party" _

At the time he didn't have a clue what he could have meant, for it was only him and the Daroga, along with an unconscious man. But suddenly the realization struck him like a slap on the face as he dropped the package of creamer he had been holding on the counter, rushing from the room as fast as his legs would carry him. _Christine was there. _The thought rushed through his mind over and over as he ran towards the Persian, gripping him by the front of his silk robes. The Persian had just finished dressing the Vicomte in some of his own cotton robes, and was just preparing to enter the kitchen to fix him some soup for when he awoke.

He was rather unsurprised when he came face to face with Erik, as he thought it was about time that he figured it out. He waited patiently for Erik to speak, pretending to not acknowledge Erik's hands gripping the front of his shirt.

"Where is she?" he hissed through clenched teeth, never once taking his eyes from Nadir's own jade gaze. Finally, Nadir responded with a completely composed tone. "I will not tell you, until you first release me, and secondly promise to not do the girl any harm, as you are the one who forced her out of your home with nowhere for her to go." Erik frowned as he released the Persian and stepped backwards, forcing himself to remain calm. "I promise I will not lay a hand on her, now tell me where she is."

Nadir gestured towards his wife's bedroom, and Erik lunged for the door before Nadir could even tell him to open the door quietly. Erik launched open the door unceremoniously, pouncing into the room as if he would die unless he got into the bedroom. He stopped in his tracks as he saw Christine sleeping peacefully in the huge elegant bed, looking so much like a beautiful princess that he felt his knees weaken as he approached the side of her bed slowly. He kneeled down beside it as he watched her sleep with sudden adoration and tenderness pouring from his eyes.

He had never seen her look so content, so peaceful as she slept, but now she looked like an innocent child, simply dozed off in the middle of the day. He found himself reaching for her hand, but withdrew it quickly as she started muttering in her sleep, turning her body so that she faced him with her closed eyes. He reached out his hand and slid it down her elegant jaw line, tracing his finger down her neck and twisting it within the soft curls of her hair. He began to sing softly as he continued to caress her, reminded immensely of when Christine had been a child and he had sung her to sleep.

He sung every lullaby he could remember, and finally withdrew his hand as he finished the last verse of his final song. He stood to leave the room, feeling more content than he had been on arriving. He turned to leave just as he saw Christine's eyes flutter open, and he instantly returned to his previous position, crouched beside the bed staring into her eyes. She raised herself into a sitting position, squinting her eyes in the darkness at the man sitting beside her bed as she allowed her eyes to adjust. Finally, she gave a small gasp as her eyes settled on the white mask, unwilling to believe that her Angel had truly returned.

"Erik," she whispered to the darkness, feeling the tingling sensation take control of her once more. Why had he returned? How had he discovered she was staying there instead of at Raoul's estate? Had Nadir somehow informed him? In any case, she could not have been more enthralled to see Erik there, but she was not certain he felt the same. He might have only come to talk to Nadir, and found her sleeping in his wife's bed. It would certainly look questionable, she would not deny that. But regardless of his reasons, she silently thanked the heavens for bringing him back to her.

The silence endured as the two continued to look into each other's eyes, their emotions spilling into each other with a single glance. Finally, when Christine thought she could no longer bear the silence, Erik's voice cut through it like a smooth knife. "Christine, please forgive me," he choked out, not sure whether he wanted to cry or scream. This girl, this woman, had such power over him, she had his whole emotions on a single string.

He sighed as he once again felt her arms envelop him, and he buried his head in her shoulder, inhaling her familiar scent of fresh lavender as he wrapped his own arms around her thin frame. She was crying into his shoulder, muttering small phrases that Erik couldn't understand. He couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto his face. She was in _his_ arms, not the Vicomte's. She had come to him for comfort, not her foolish fiancé. Finally, she drew back enough so that she could look into his eyes, her own watery gaze meeting his intense green eyes. She had never felt as weightless as she did at that moment, Erik's warmth surrounding every bit of her.

Her heart was beating rapidly and she felt a light flutter in her stomach as she gently brushed her lips against Erik's, closing her eyes as she felt his warm breath against her skin. His breathing was labored, and she put her hand against his chest to feel the rapid beating that was identical to her own. She opened her eyes to find that he had closed his own, savoring the feel of her smooth hand against his chest.

He whispered her name throatily as he grasped her hand in his, and slowly opened his eyes to gaze upon his angel. She was staring at him lovingly, and she reached out her other hand to stroke the side of his face, and once again removed his mask. He made a sound of protest, but was instantly silenced by Christine's lips pressed to his own with an intense heated passion that Erik returned with identical force. A warm sensation coursed through Erik's body as he felt as if he were melting into Christine's embrace. Christine moaned into his mouth as he gently pressed his tongue through her slightly parted lips, and she grasped the front of his shirt as she gently tugged him closer to her. She leaned back on the bed until her head rested on the pillow, dragging Erik on top of her as she did so.

He came without reluctance, propping himself up by placing both hands beside her body so as not to crush her with his weight. He finally broke the kiss, both breathing heavily as he buried his head in her shoulder once more. She fumbled with the tie on his cloak, her hands trembling as she struggled to remove it. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Erik at that moment. She finally untied the cloak, and threw it beside the bed as she began to work on his vest. She had just undone the last button when he reached out his hand to stop her, placing his hand over her own, flattening it against his chest.

"You're not well Christine. You need to get all the sleep you can get, because you'll be returning to the Chagny estate tomorrow morning." His voice trembled as he forced himself up from the bed, the warmth of Christine's body immediately evaporating from his own body. He turned away from her as he bent to retrieve his cloak, avoiding her questioning gaze. "What? I don't want to return to him. I- I don't love Raoul, Erik."

Oh God, he had wanted to hear her say those words ever since Raoul had become patron at the Opera Populaire. But he knew she didn't mean it, and he once again applied his mask of nonchalance as he turned to her once more. "You don't know what you're saying. He is your fiancé, and you will return to his estate tomorrow to begin a new life. A life with him promises you happiness and all the worldly treasures you could ever wish for."

He picked up his white mask from the floor, and pressed it to his face as he glided to the door to leave. "Wait!" Christine's pleading voice stopped him in his tracks as he gave into temptation, once again turning to gaze upon her beautiful form. "I do not wish to live a life without the one I truly love, even if I will have all the treasures and wealth in the world." He tried to force a convincing smile as he looked into her pleading eyes, begging him to stay. "Well, then it's a good thing you'll be living with Raoul then, isn't it?" There was a hint of anger coating his voice, and he turned his eyes from her body, and they came to rest on the night stand beside her bed. His eyes lingered on the rose laying on its oak surface, the black ribbon gleaming in the light of the candle sitting beside it.

Christine smiled as she followed his gaze to the rose, and reached out to hold the rose, tenderly caressing its silky petals. "I will keep it forever, even after the last petal falls off and the ribbon becomes old and worn. I saved it because I knew it would be the only physical way of remembering my angel, besides my own memories of course," She was avoiding his gaze, staring intently at the beautiful flower. Erik forced down the tears that threatened to rise, and swept from the room in one fleeting motion. "I am not your angel anymore, Christine."

His last words hung in the air, echoing in Christine's head as she pleaded with herself not to cry, she had to stay strong. She would not let Erik see her weak. She gently got up from the bed after replacing the rose on the night stand, shivering once again in the cold of the room. She searched in the bureau and found a plain white cotton robe, and tying it around her, she opened the door and strode from the room. She walked along the hallway to the living room, planning on seeing Nadir and Erik, sitting in separate chairs as they sat in silence. But instead, she was greeted with the sight of Raoul, looking like a homeless drunk with his unshaven face and straggly hair, drinking hot tea on the couch while Nadir placed a wet rag to his forehead. Erik was nowhere to be seen, and she gave a gasp as she laid eyes on her fiancé.

"Raoul-.." the words caught in her throat as she ran to his side, and he dropped the tea ungracefully on the saucer as he threw his arms around her, squeezing her as close to him as she could get. Nadir looked upon the two, and swept from the room to give the two some privacy. As much as Christine pitied him in his condition, she could not bring herself to embrace him, and merely pulled back as she studied his filthy form. "What happened to you?" she questioned, sounding more like a concerned mother than a fiancé.

He looked at her with all the love and adoration of an unrequited lover, and she felt herself sickened by his gaze instead of flattered. "I was looking for you, in that monster's lair. I searched for three weeks, I couldn't find him, Christine! I looked and looked, and then, one day, I heard him playing his organ, and it led me right to him! But you weren't there, so I was stuck with that monster. But I was sick, and I collapsed before I could kill him. I'm just glad you're safe."

She looked at him with pity for the poor boy, before embracing him with trembling arms. "Oh Raoul," He wrapped his arms around her body, once again pressing her painfully against him. She was tempted to pull away, but forced herself to give him comfort for his sake. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and his breath caught in his throat, and she pulled away to follow his gaze to the door of the kitchen, where Erik was staring at them with a steely jealousy Christine had seen all too often.

She pulled away from Raoul as she ran to his side, but he simply looked away from her and went to the door to pull it open. He turned to her once more, whispering one final statement before closing the door behind him. "I hope you two will be happy together, if a life with him is truly what you want." She wanted nothing more than to run after him and bury herself in his arms, and plead with him to let her live with him. But Raoul embraced her from behind before she could even touch the doorknob. He pulled her towards the couch, forcing her to sit beside him. She attempted to pull away, but he was holding her with an iron grip.

"Forget that monster," he whispered tenderly, but it only angered Christine and she looked away from his gaze. "He is not a monster Raoul, do not speak ill of him when it is he who saved you and brought you here." Raoul looked stunned that she had protected Erik, and did not object when she forced herself out of his arms. She rose and went to the window, looking out on the quiet Paris street. She gave a silent prayer wishing for Erik to be happy, before turning to go to Raoul, knowing that this would be the life she would have to live, whether she loved him or not. She let Raoul embrace her, and she fell asleep uncomfortably in his arms, with haunting dreams of Erik never far from her mind.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

**Ugh, Raoul is such a loser. Anyways, Review please! and don't worry! As I've said before, it will be a EC phic, so don't fret! Just be patient! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


	8. Tenderness of An Angel

**I've FINALLY updated! WHOOO! I have some Erik/Christine fluff as a reward for how patient you've been! This isn't my favorite chapter, but hey, it's a chapter. It's also my shortest one, but its very fluff-tastic towards the end. Lol. this chapter took me about a week to write, cuz I would write some while I was in math class, a lil in skills for living, and a little after school, and after a week of doing that, I FINALLY accomplished something! Lol anyway, read and PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! **

**Thanks to Inspector, Erik's Secret Admirer, Little Chorus Girl, Twinkle22, and Jamea for your faithful reviewing! Yall make me so happy:tearing up: **

**ok, on with the story.**

**Chapter 8:** **Tenderness of an Angel**

Erik stood staring at the door for hours, never once acknowledging the bitter chill of December's frigid night air. His face had hours before become numb, his hot tears becoming frozen as they rolled down his weary face. He wanted to run, get as far away from his only friend's once-welcoming apartment and drown himself in the darkness of his lair, but his feet were glued to the spot.

He had pushed her away. She had hugged him, cried in his arms, even . . . kissed him, and he had pushed her away, even though all those things were what he had been craving for, lusting for with all his being. But no woman, not even his own mother, would ever have reason to kiss him, he was the Devil's Child, a monster. Christine did not have any feelings for him other than lust for her fallen Angel. And he didn't want her lust, he wanted her full, undeniable love, which he could never hope to get. She did not know Erik, she only lusted for the Angel. He sucked in a breath of stale air as he attempted to stand up straighter, trying to make himself look prouder than he was. Not that there was anyone to convince, except himself.

He had been struggling to hear what was going on on the other side of the door, not sure exactly what he wanted to hear. _I want to know she's happy_, he told himself as he continued to study the old weather-worn door, which wasn't different from any other door in the complex except forthe gold-plated number thirteen over the peephole, but it would always be the most welcoming door in the whole apartment plaza to Erik. It was his threshold to his only friend, the only companion he would ever have.

There were no sounds from within the apartment, and he felt bitter resentment rise within him as he knew Christine and Raoul were probably together in Nadir's wife's bed, cuddled up, laughing about how funny it had been to seeErik suffer so greatly at the happiness of their reunion. He felt the boiling anger rise in his chest as he thought of Christine in Raoul's arms, only hours after she had been in his. Remembering that it was _he_ who had pushed her away in the first place, he pushed the accusation out of his head as he returned his focus to the door.

The only sound he had heard on the other side of the door was the hurried and rather angry voice of Christine, insisting to Raoul that Erik was no monster, before her voice dropped back to a whisper. He had closed his eyes, letting the angelic sound of Christine's voice caress his ears as he knew it would probably be the last time he ever heard it.

Satisfied that there would be nothing but silence the rest of the night, he turned on his heel and began to walk down the stone steps. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to run as far away from the apartment as he could, he couldn't help but creep down the steps, his head unconsciously cocked slightly towards the apartment, listening for any sign of activity. Finally, he stopped at the first landing, unable to go another step. He forced himself to keep his head forward, not allowing himself to give into temptation and run back to the apartment, never turning his gaze from the empty, forlorn Parisian street.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness clutch him and all of his sadness in its icy grip. He felt the tears before he even noticed they were coming, and it was then that he felt a slight wave of annoyance about how much he had cried over the past week. Oh, how Christine tormented him! He was the Phantom of the Opera! He was supposed to have a cold heart, completely void of human emotions. He wiped the wet tears from his left cheek, and looking around, quickly removed his mask and wiped it free of liquid before replacing it once more. He sat down on the landing, knowing he would not be going anywhere that night, and started to finally contemplate the afternoon's events.

Had he not pulled away, he might be laying with Christine at that very moment, whispering loving words into her ear as she lay on his chest, both of them completely happy and content. She had kissed him fiercely, pulled him on top of her _in a bed, _and then had started to remove his vest! He had never been with Christine in such a. . . provocative way, and he found himself aching to feel that warm sensation flow through him again. Then why had he pulled away? She was the one who had kissed him, and why would she kiss him with such passion if she did not expect something in return? She was, after all, engaged to the Vicomte, and he could not imagine Christine betraying the fop that way with anyone unless she had a very good reason to do so. Maybe she didn't really love Raoul, perhaps she simply pitied the poor excuse for a noble.

But, no matter if she loved Raoul or not, she could never love a demon like him, and he would not fool himself into believing that she would. But, oh, nothing made sense! When she had seen him beside her bed, her eyes had lit up and all the sadness and emptiness that had inhabited those beautiful brown orbs only minutes before was nowhere to be found.

But how could anyone feel such joy for a creature like him? Of course she had relentlessly been overjoyed when she heard Erik come to her as her Angel in childhood, but now was different. She was older, she was no longer the child of the past. She had seen his face, and she had kissed his horrid visage without one flinch or tremble.

She knew who he really was, and had still embraced him, so was it possible that she could see beyond his mask? No, he was a murderer! Oh, God, if only he had Nadir to help him sort through his thoughts. But he was probably with Christine and Raoul, tending to their every need, forgetting completely about his own best friend.

Finally, he could take no more of his own bitter jealousy, and stood once more to begin down the second landing. Just as his foot touched the first step, he heard the door above him swing open as a shaft of light illuminated the dark stone stairway. His chest tightened as his heart once again began to race, and he quickly turned on his heel to look hopefully up towards the door. He felt a wave of emotions that tugged at every muscle and nerve in his body as he saw Christine standing in the doorway, looking more elegant and alluring than he had seen in a long while. Her hair was combed thoroughly and free from any pesky strays, the glossy curls framing her smooth heart-shaped face as perfectly as if she were an angel herself. Erik felt his knees weaken as she gave a small smile, her full lips glowing in the light of the doorway.

Erik braced himself against the railing, afraid he would collapse under her gaze. He trickled his gaze shamefully over every bit of her, slowly dragging his eyes from her delicate features down to the creamy skin of her neck. She strode towards him slowly, never breaking her eyes away from his own emerald gaze. Erik saw something, deep within her eyes, that he had seen all to often in his own, and he found himself searching her eyes intently, as if trying to prove it was really there.

There was a strong desire, a deep lust, which was hidden in the deepest part of Christine's heart, and the only thing veiling it was her lifetime of innocence and purity. She had never known something as strong as love for someone other than her father, and she felt herself tremble slightly as she got closer to Erik, her steps growing slower and slower as she got nearer to his tensed form.

Erik realized he was staring with his mouth slightly agape, noticing the soft silk gown she had changed into and the soft cotton robe which did nothing to hide the sensual contours of her body. Closing his mouth embarrassedly, he forced himself to turn on his heel and focus on a dark carriage parked in front of a small café, pretending to be completely oblivious to Christine's presence.

"Do not turn from me, Erik" he heard her whisper behind him. He had heard her footsteps stop about five feet behind him, and his mind would do nothing but focus on the image of him quickly filling the space between him and Christine, holding her forever and for eternity, never letting her out of his grasp. When he did not respond to her command, he heard her sigh painfully and could faintly distinguish the soft sound of Christine sitting on the stone steps.

The silence wore on. Erik continued to stare at the carriage, silent tears clouding his vision of the black horses waiting patiently for their driver to return. Christine had not uttered one more word, and he had only the soft sound of her own sobbing to convey that she was still behind him. Finally, he could take the silence no longer, but he would not give in so easily to her. Forming a wall of steel around his heart, he turned to face her huddled and trembling form, she was obviously freezing from the cold.

He felt his heart ache for his poor angel, and he craved to wrap himself around her, enclosing them both in the warmth of his cloak. He forced back his shoulders, making himself look more intimidating than he actually felt. She did not look up, but he knew she was aware of his burning gaze. Her sobbing had ceased, and her body was completely still, as if awaiting a death sentence she was sure would come. Finally, he licked his lips, and made his voice as cold as he could possibly manage.

"Has Raoul grown tired of you? Am I, once again, your last resort?" he spat, and noticed that he was no longer feigning his cold heart. He had been torn apart by jealously, and Christine thought she could just come back to him and expect him to welcome her with open arms? He would not allow himself to be the fool she obviously thought him to be. She finally looked up at him, and Erik noticed the pain that seemed to be behind every movement. She glared at him with bitter anger, but Erik could see emotions hidden behind her fury, feelings she would never allow Erik to see.

Erik continued to glare at her with the identical angry rage. He would not speak until she responded. She would not win over him, not this time. Finally, she lowered her eyes in stinging defeat, her eyes softening as she distractedly fingered the delicate material of her gown. _No, I came to you because I love you, and I want you to love me. Why can't you see that?_ She closed her eyes in utter pain, trying to restrain the tears that pricked at the edges of her eyes.

"Raoul is asleep," she muttered quietly, not sure what else there was to say. What could she say? What would make him understand? She had left him, and ended up back in Raoul's arms. And now, she was going back to Erik. Why would anyone forgive her for something so cruel?

"Ah, and why is it that you are not sleeping next to him, offering your warmth to help his pitiful condition?" Erik was becoming more angry by the second, and was doing well in conveying this to Christine. She looked up at him, all anger and sadness gone from her eyes. Now there was nothing but regret and misery, and her lips were trembling as he saw her struggling to stop the tears that were forming in her eyes.

"Angel, what can I say to make you understand? I do not love Raoul. He is nothing but a boy in my eyes, the boy who once saved my scarf from the sea. I feel utterly nauseous when he speaks loving words to me, whispers promises of a lifetime of riches and glory. I do not wish for a life with him, I do not want a life where I will be surrounded by maids and butlers everywhere I turn! I want a lifetime of love!" Her voice had grown louder with each word, and she was practically screaming with pain and hurt by the time she finally finished. She was breathing heavily, her body red with anger and heat, despite the bitter cold of night.

Erik was stunned. He stared at her open mouthed, but quickly closed it as he turned on her once more. He heard her shudder behind him, a sign of her never-ending anguish. She started pleading with him, trying to will herself to fight.

"Why do you think I kissed you, Erik? Why do you think I embraced you with all that I have? Why, Erik!" Her voice was faltering, but still audible despite her constant sobs.

He closed his eyes at the sound of his name coming from those perfect lips, the angelic sound echoing repeatedly in his head before he found the strength to answer. "Christine, why can you not leave me with my misery? You do not long for me, you long for your Angel, which I am not. I am a demon, a horror to this Earth. You would do good to leave me with my suffering."

He heard a light aggravated growl behind him, and he turned in surprise to find her standing with her hands on her hips, looking quite comical in the current situation. She looked like a spoiled child who did not get what she requested for and had resorted to anger. He felt a faint smile tug the corner of his lips, but pushed it away as he waited for her response. Finally, she let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed with her head in her hands, knees pressed to her chest. Erik completely forgot about their current argument, and rushed over to kneel beside Christine. He placed his finger underneath her smooth chin, and silently thanked God that he had removed his gloves in Nadir's kitchen as he felt the familiar tingle rush through his fingers, causing his body to tremble. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his emerald eyes.

His eyes softened as he felt her tremble beneath him, knowing she probably feared him now because of his harshness. He subconsciously stroked her chin, savoring the feel of the porcelain skin. "Why, Christine?" he whispered tenderly, fingering a lock of hair resting on the delicate material of her nightgown.

She shivered under the warmth of his touch, every stroke of his finger sending five thousand hot waves coursing through her body. At first she did not hear his question, but when she did, she looked at him in confusion, until a light dawned in her eyes and a look of realization struck her elegant features. She closed her eyes, leaning her chin into Erik's palm as he slowly moved his hand over her lips, then drifting it onto her cheek.. She heard Erik sigh as she nudged his hand lightly, massaging her cheek with his strong hand.

He cupped her cheek, and she drew up herhand and lightly placed it over his own, gently pressing his hand against her face. Every where he touched her burned painfully, but she only wanted more. She could still feel his touch even on the places where his hands no longer rested. She forced these thoughts from her mind as she struggled for an answer to his question, not sure what to say. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked into his, and slid closer to him on the stone steps. Leaningcloser tohimuntil her lips tickled the stray hair around his ear, she whispered the only thing she could think of that would convince him of her motives.

"I love you, Angel."

**SO! Too much fluff? Not enough? Too short of a chapter? TELL ME IN A REVIEW! REVIEW OR I SHALL. . . :pause: hold on one second. . . . :runs to a closet and returns with a tied-up Raoul:... REVIEW OR I SHALL SEND RAOUL TO YOUR HOUSE ASKING FOR SHAMPOO! MWAHAHA(I haven't let him wash his hair in a week,hes completely heartbroken, how evil of me, ha)**


	9. Sheer Bliss

**Okay I had to redo this chapter cuz i didnt like the whole idea of "sex before marriage" and all, and I think it's a little better right now. **

**and ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU TO MY REVIEWERS! im rather fond of this chapter, so read it and review please! It took me a long time, cuz I've been really depressed cuz my favorite kitty died. I know she was just a cat, but she was like, family. So I've been bummed out, but writing this chapter actually helped me! Anyways, none of that's important, so just read pwease. I think this story is going to turn out to be very long, because i still have to put Meg inthis story, and i did something in this chapter that's gonna make that difficult. I made a mistake in one of my earlier chapters, I said that Christine's room had a door, when actually its just a black veil. So forgive me for that foolish mistake, I forgot her room was the one with the veil lol.**

**Review and you'll get a cookie! **

**Chapter 9:** **Sheer Bliss**

His ears were ringing, his palms were sweating, and his breath was coming out in gasping heaves that drained him of his energy. He felt the blood roaring in his ears, and his body burned with Christine's words. She was tricking him again. He stood from his place on the steps, knocking Christine aside and striding angrily towards the landing, fleeing down the steps without even looking back. He could faintly hear Christine's shrill cries as he raced down the steps, dashing across the street towards the horse-drawn carriage that was still parked outside the café.

He approached the horse shakily, disregarding the sound of the horse's protestant whinnies as he untied the horse from the carriage. He coaxed the horse away from the café, walking it into a small alley so he could remove the carriage pulls from the horse's neck. He glanced at the carriage, noticing how lonesome and empty it looked now that it's leader was gone, its way of life, and recognized the feeling immediately. With a sigh and a half-sob, he placed his foot in the stirrups and pulled himself onto the horse's back.

He sat there a moment, twisting the horse's long black mane about his slender fingers, contemplating what he was to do. Christine had lied to him, again. He had fallen for it, just as he always did, just as he always would. She had looked so innocent, so unbelievably sincere, that he had never thought for a moment she was deceiving him. But then she had said those words, those words he had never heard and never hoped to hear from anyone, not even his parents. Christine must have been incredibly bold to presume that he would believe anyone could have affectionate feelings for him, and not just the ones that a student has for a tutor.

He sneered as he discovered that Christine must have been slipping up on her talents of deceiving him, for they both were aware that Christine had been in Raoul's arms only hours before she had come outside, and Raoul had been embracing her for dear life. He remembered her saying something about Raoul being asleep, and he concluded that that was her reason for coming to him. Erik was nothing but her plaything, her toy that she could play with when she grew bored with another. He felt anger escalate in his throat, and for a moment thought that he was angry at Christine. No, he was angry at himself. For letting Christine deceive him, for letting her into his life, for ever meeting her. But he quickly took this back, and cursed himself as he realized what he had thought.

No matter what Christine did to him, she had been his life. If she hadn't come to the opera house, he would have always been a fearful menace to the opera, and would continue to kill and torment until he truly became a demon, completely unaware of any human emotions besides pain and suffering. He smiled as he coaxed the horse from the alley, briefly glancing back towards Nadir's apartment to find the landing empty, vacant of everything except an ever-growing layer of rich, white snow. He frowned as he led the horse down the Rue de Rivoli, certain that Christine was probably in Raoul's arms once again, cuddling up against him as she silently scoffed at the foolish gullible masked monster.

He turned left when he came to a large building dwelling right next to the Opera House, disregarding the stares of the market owners who were just opening, placing their new stock of fresh fruits and vegetables on the old, weather-worn stands. As he turned into the dark alley-way, he slowed his pace so he could observe his surroundings, surveying the shadows to make sure he had not been seen. Satisfied he was alone, he lowered himself from the horse and began to enter the Rue Scribe entrance, before realizing he didn't want to go to his lair. He could take no more darkness or emptiness that day, and decided to visit the small café set up on the edge of the market. He strode towards the café at a brisk pace, savoring the surprisingly welcome feel of the cold wind whipping at his face, and the wet snow caking his cape with its icy veil.

He walked into the café, wincing at the sound of the voices of the workers, talking incredibly loud and buoyant, which was not exactly what Erik was looking forward to at the moment. He looked around the dingy café, surprised at how many people were there when it could not even be four o'clock. There was a warm couple in one corner, cuddled together in a snug booth, and three different loners, none of them touching their drink, all staring outside as if wishing the world would come and take them away forever. None of them turned their heads as he walked in, none acknowledging the mysterious masked man walking into their only sanctuary. He waited patiently for the manager to notice him, finding great pleasure in observing the behavior of the other customers. Finally, the cashier's voice broke through his enjoyment. "What'll it be, Monsieur?"

He turned towards the cashier lazily, and ordered one cup of black coffee. The cashier went into the back to make his drink, and when he returned with the steamy cup Erik retreated to the darkest corner of the café, which was barely lit by a dying candle over the table. He sipped his coffee silently, savoring the bitter taste that lingered on his mouth as he drifted in and out of thoughts of Christine. He had drunken half of his drink when a familiar, clear, aristocrat's voice broke through his reveries. "Any word on the girl yet?"

His head snapped up, and he surveyed the man who had just stepped into the café. He looked incredibly out of place in the dingy café, with his rich silk overcoat and dark violet waistcoat. His hair was heavily sprayed, but Erik could tell from his position that there were more gray hairs than usual poking out from his crown. It was Philippe, Raoul's older brother, and Erik quickly rose from his seat and slunk into the shadows, perking his ears to hear every word.

"Oh, you mean that Daae girl? She was the chorus girl turned star weren't she? The one having an affair with that Opera Ghost? I swear on my life I have never in my life heard such a story. People from all over come in here, yapping on about how she left your brother for that demon. Must've been one fine fellow, that Phantom, although most of them stories call him repulsive." Erik clutched onto the back of a nearby chair, nearly stumbling over at the ridiculousness of the manager's words. Repulsive indeed.

Philippe looked impatient about something, and his tone was edgy as he spoke in a hushed whisper, but Erik could hear every word.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Daae. I still do not have a clue where she is at the moment, she's been missing ever since that disastrous Don Juan play. Fantastic music by the way, although I don't remember who the managers said composed it..." Erik scoffed quietly as Philippe drifted off, remembering the powerful music of Don Juan, Erik's most prized work.

"Well, in any matter, Frank, I can't help but thinking that she and that Phantom ran away together. You know, none of my men were able to find any trace of her when we searched in that gloomy hell he calls a home. And my brother, he's been missing just as long. I can't find myself hoping much for him though. The poor boy was almost out of his mind that night, not able to say anything not related to that damned girl. Little whore probably drove him insane." Erik's grip on the chair grew tighter, and he clenched his teeth to keep himself from lunging out at Philippe, ripping his heart from his chest. _How dare he? _He forced himself to remain silent as Philippe continued.

"I have a lead on where he's hiding though, underneath that heap of ash they call an opera house. Maybe I'll find them all there, sipping tea and chatting about the latest scandals at Prestavergne's pub like a group of aristocrats." Frank laughed heartily as Philippe turned and strutted from the café, after retrieving a Paris paper from the side counter. Erik slid out from his hiding place, and sat quietly back in his seat, picking up his cup to finish the lukewarm coffee. He found the taste utterly unbearable, and with a disgusted grunt tossed the cup into the trash-bin beside the counter. He sat back in his seat, still seething about Philippe's words.

So the whole town was talking about him and Christine? Well, if they wanted to think that she was having an affair, then so be it. Although it would sure come as a surprise to all when Raoul and Christine turned up at the De Chagny Estate, perfectly well and ready to marry. Erik felt his heart sink as he rose from his seat, heading out the door into the freezing wind. The blasts of cold air were not as comforting now, and he found himself longing for the warmth of his lair. He hurried towards the Rue Scribe entrance, noticing that the horse was no longer positioned outside the entrance. He gave a silent prayer that the horse had left, as a stranded horse would surely draw attention and no doubt reveal his entrance.

He opened the gate with a loud creak, and slipped inside and was immediately encased in darkness. He strode down the passageways, not needing a form of light to find his way down the twisting hallways, until he reached the side entrance to the lair, the same one that Raoul had stumbled through.

He walked out into the middle of the lair, and noticed with bewilderment that all the candles were lit, and the lair was full of twisting shadows from the light of the candle. He squinted around the lair, letting his eyes fully adjust to the harsh light he had not expected. His mouth fell open as his eyes landed on his organ, where his piano music had been reorganized and was laying against his organ in three straight piles, and the organ was gleaming along with the bench and every other piece of furniture in the lair. All the glass from the mirrors he had broken had been discarded, and his floor looked cleaner than it had in years.

He looked around the whole of his lair, his mouth still agape, disbelief etched into every crease in his forehead. Finally, he stumbled towards his organ and collapsed on his bench. He was so confused! His lair hadn't looked this organized since the day he had finished constructing it. Who would have done this? Not Madame Giry, she had moved with little Meg to the Opera House in Rome after he had assured her that Christine would be in safe hands with him, even though Madame Giry already knew he would not let any harm befall her. He hardly believed she would come all that way from Rome just to tidy up his home. The Persian? No, he highly doubted that. Nadir never cleaned for anyone but himself, and plus, the room was cleaned with a woman's touch, that was obvious. But it certainly wasn't Christine. . .

He turned towards his organ, needing a moment to think. Once again, he was struck by how clean and gleaming the organ was, but this time he felt his breath hitch as his eyes fell on something laying across the keys, looking elegant and gentle with its red petals contrasting with the black and white keys underneath it. He picked up the rose with shaking fingers, and studying the stem, he felt his eyes water as he lightly stroked the black ribbon. He pressed the rose to his chest, realization striking him full-force. His heart began racing as he pushed himself up from his bench, so many thought rushing through his head that he feared he might topple over.

He walked towards Christine's bedroom with trembling legs, trying to see beyond the black veil. She had come back. She had come to his home, on her own free will. He had pushed her away so many times, and she had still come back to him. He would not push her away, not this time. If she was truly back, he would give himself to her, uncaring of the risk of once again having his heart ripped out.

He finally reached the black veil, and leaned his head towards the fabric to listen for noises inside. He felt his breath quicken as he heard the rustle of sheets, and unable to wait any longer, reached up with trembling fingers to slide back the veil. As the veil parted, it was as if the angels were opening the door to a hidden angel. He felt his knees weaken and a light whimper escape his lips as he studied his angel, looking completely angelic as she laid curled on top of the bed, the sheets drawn to her middle, reading one of Erik's books.

She had changed into a slender dark green gown Erik had made, which had white trim lightly accenting the fairly low neckline. Her chestnut curls were cascading over her shoulders with sheer elegance, and her porcelain skin seemed to glow with the light of her brown eyes which were focused intently on the book in her delicate hands. Her gaze shifted to the man standing at the foot of her bed, and a broad smile crossed her features as she gently placed the book on the gleaming bureau. "Hello Erik. I guess you want to know how I got here? I chased after you when you left the apartment, and was planning on sneaking in behind you when you entered in the Rue Scribe, but then you turned around and left, so I just climbed in."

Erik felt his knees weaken under her gaze as he walked hastily to the side of her bed, kneeling before her with an apologetic expression crossing his visage. She smiled gently as she gazed upon Erik with tender eyes, and reached out for his hand. He obeyed, and weakly placed his hand in hers. He closed his eyes as she gently squeezed his hand, but quickly opened them as he felt her pull him closer, beckoning for him to come into the bed.

"Please, sit with me Erik. I think some things need to be discussed."

Once again, he obliged, unable to deny his angel anything. He stood from his position and slid into the bed next to Christine, careful not to let himself touch her in any way other than their clasped hands. It was entirely improper as it was, she was, after all, still engaged to the Vicomte. He opened his mouth to speak, the same hot jealously rising in his voice as before. "Christine, I highly doubt whether-.."

"Erik, . ." Her voice cut through his sentence, and he instantly fell silent, knowing an explanation was on its way. He felt her squeeze his hand once again, and he gently mirrored the action, letting her know he would stay quiet. She smiled at him knowingly, before beginning to speak.

"Raoul doesn't have a clue I'm here. I told Nadir to tell him I went to stay with one of the chorus girls on the outskirts of France because I was too shaken up by the whole event. Which was, as you can see, entirely untrue." She gestured to the room around her, then took his other hand in hers. Erik continued to stay speechless, though he yearned to question every word coming out of her mouth to tell if it was true.

"You pushed me away from you three times, Erik, and I still came back. No matter how many times you push me away, for whatever reason, I will always come back to you. Because I love you, Erik, and there's no one else that I could ever bear to give my heart to." Finally, Erik felt it necessary to speak, and turned to her with bitter misery in his eyes. She seemed to shrink back from his gaze.

"But I am certain you've given your body to that fop several times, or am I mistaken?" The words flew from his mouth before he knew they were coming, and he felt a wave of regret as she drew back from him in shock, releasing his hands as she looked at him with distaste, completely offended. "How dare you? I would never! I planned to save my body for a person whom I truly loved, but if you would like me to give myself to Raoul, then how could I ever deny you your wish?" Her words were coated with hate, and Erik felt heat rush to his cheeks as he shifted his gaze, sorry for his words but not completely forgiving for her actions. "Forgive me Christine, I am sorry for my words. But you told him you loved him. You called my face hardly a face. I never forgot that Christine, your words echoed in my head for months. And you come to me with words of love?"

He heard her sigh beside him, and he turned to look at his angel as she turned to face the ceiling, avoiding his gaze as much as possible. "I was a foolish child. Raoul only saw me as his Little Lotte, and I only saw him as the boy who saved my scarf from the sea. I love him, you're correct, but not the way you presume. I love him the way girl loves a brother, or a childhood friend. Raoul is both to me, and I could not imagine living a life of no love with a boy in a man's body. He does not see me as a woman, he sees me as a child he needs to protect. Sometimes he is utterly sickening, and I found myself..longing for_ your_ embrace instead of his, when I was in his arms." Erik looked at her in disbelief as she turned to look at him once again, pleading replacing the anger which had been in her eyes minutes before. It took him a minute to speak, but finally he stumbled out what he was trying to say. "You..longed for me?" He couldn't comprehend it! At that moment, he wanted to hate her. To spare himself from the lies she was obviously speaking.

"Yes, although I didn't know it was you I longed for until you walked in on me and Raoul in Nadir's living room, but then I realized you were what I needed all those years." She gave a wide smile as Erik continued to stare in disbelief, not sure what he was expected to say. She slid closer to him on the bed, once again taking his hand in hers. He felt like a flimsy puppet, completely under Christine's control. But it was sheer bliss.

She pressed against him, her body molding perfectly against his, and Erik surrendered his doubts. He felt a familiar fire rise within him, and he was no longer the flimsy puppet. He released her hand, and she gave a cry of protest until he began to snake his arm around her waist, pressing her as tight against him as he could without hurting her. She felt so small in his arms, he held her delicately as if scared she might break. He caressed the smooth skin of her back, praising himself that he had made the dress open-backed. He felt her shudder against him, and he drew back as he looked into her eyes. He expected to see fear in her eyes, but they were glazed over with pure lust and love. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off as his mouth descended on hers, needing her more than ever.

For a while, they stayed like that, locked in each other's embrace, unable to resist the passion that only they together had wrought, until Christine pulled back, chest heaving. Erik looked at her in confusion, and once again leaned down to kiss her, but she placed a finger against his lips, and smiled softly, her lips flaming from his heated kisses. "As much as I want this, Erik, I am a Christian. And I cannot-.."

She blushed, and Erik nodded. He forced himself, shakily, to rise from the bed, and Christine looked at him guiltily as she helped him up.

"Im sorry Erik, because I know I led you on, and- and it wasn't exactly right. .." She trailed off, hoping he wouldn't become angry.

But he just shook his head, and smiled. Christine was momentarily stunned by the transformation a simple smile could make. It was as if all his pains had disappeared, and if the harsh realities of life had never presented themselvesto him. She decided he needed to smile more. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, almost tentatively, before going to the curtain.

"I understand, Christine. It's not proper. I will leave you. Good night." But Christine stopped him with a hand on his arm, and he turned to her in surprise. He gave her a questioning glance, to which she answered with a smile. "Just because I can't. . .you know what I mean, doesn't mean you have to leave." To Christine's surprise, he seemed scared when she said this, and Christine wondered if maybe he was. . frightened of her. He had certainly backed away from her enough times to convince her of the fact. She blushed as she struggled to correct her mistake.

"Never mind, of course you don't want to, after just having to deal with Raoul and everything.You should have told me, and I wouldn't have-.." He cut her off with a light laugh. Christine was shocked, and had to tell herself to closeher gaping mouth. His laugh was deep and light and irresistibly rich, and it was enough to set Christine's knees to trembling.

"Christine, you mistake me. I was only afraid that. . .my-..urges would get the better of me." At this Christine blushed a deeper crimson, and cast her eyes to the floor. "Oh, well, never mind then. You're right, of course." She thought it was rather silly, for she knew he would be more than willing to lay with her had it been three weeks prior. But, then again, she reminded herself, that was different. That was when she knew nothing but lust. Now that she knew she loved him, she probably would be as helpless against her urges as he was. He smiled, before turning and disappearing through the curtain with a curt, slightly wavering goodnight.

She sighed as she turned back to her bed, and with a low moan collapsed onto the silk bedspread and slipped into oblivion.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

Erik sat in his bedroom, staring at the floor, trying to see everything but seeing nothing. He had tried to sleep, but sleep simply would not come. For two hours, he had either laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, or sitting up, staring at the floor. Not that there was much difference in appearance between the two, since it was black as. . .well, night. He groaned in despair, before falling back against the silk coverlet of his bed. All he had to do was close his eyes, and just lay there. . .and eventually. . .

He sprang up from his bed with annoyance, and began pacing the length of his bedroom. Each step, each groan the underground lair made, and each heaving breath he made seemed to scream Christine's name, and seemed to whisper details about her eyes, her hair, her mouth. . .

Finally, unable to take it any longer, and hardly pausing to think about whether he would be waking Christine or not, he ran to her room, nearly tripping overa candelabra in the process, and pulled back the black satin curtain covering the entryway to Christine's room. She didn't stir, and Erik could see nothing of her but her mass of brown curls sprawled across the pillow. Erik was nearly shaking with desire, as he watched her chest heave up and down with each breath, but he forced himself to remain calm. Gently, very gently, he pulled back the cover of the comforter, and slipped into the bed next to her. Finally, she stirred, and started as she saw him laying beside her. "Erik." Her voice was still clouded with sleep, and he muttered a quick apology for awaking her. He tried to put on a nonchalant face, but his nervousness showed through, even in the dark. Christine smiled, understanding, and brought her arms around his neck. He stiffened, the thin material of her nightgown laying against his bare chest and her warmth seeping through, but slowly brought his arms around her waist, hoping she wouldn't draw back. She settled against him, body molded to his, and, lullabied by the sound of his breathing at her ear, she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**XX**

**Sorry I changed it so much, but i think it makes it better now that she hasn't lost her virginity. I really didn't intend to add that so early on.**

By the way, if there are any slight storyline errors in the following chapters, about that happening even though it didn't, please just tell me in a PM and i'll fix it. Thanks!


	10. The Truth Told

**This chapter took way longer than it's worth. It was rather boring, maybe that's why it took me so long to write it. Anyway, I need reviews, I have gone way too long without seeing that little flashy thing that says... "(1) New Mail"**

**Much thanks to:**

**Inspector: Always my favorite reviewer :hands cookie:**

**Twinkle22: thank u so much for such kind feedback!**

**Jamea: Thank you for sticking with my story for this long, even though we both know it needs work.**

**LittleChorusGirl: You make me smile:)**

**Carillon: Yes I think everyone was pleased to see a Christine with a backbone. Thank you!**

**TroyGabriella 4eva: every thing you say in your reviews when u comment about my story is exactly how i feel! Especially with the... "grr, damnable raoul!" the whole time i was writing that chapter that's exactly what i was saying to myself! Just thought it was interesting, lol. **

**Thank you to anyone I didn't mention and to all my new reviewers, and this time you get a candy bar for reviewing.(just cuz i got a load of em for valentines day and don't wanna eat em.)**

**Ok I'm going to shutup now. :readers cheer: **

**:glaring:**

**Chapter 10:**

_He stared at the dancing forms around him, finding himself incapable of seeing anything other than the vivid and lustrous colors of their skirts and the alluring swish of their long curls as they shimmered across his line of vision. They were surrounding him, encompassing his being in seductive flashes of red and green, gold and silver. _

_There were more than thirty of them, all of them dancing erratically around Raoul as he attempted to see beyond the flow of chestnut curls that fell delicately around every girl's face, striving to catch a glimpse of their mysterious eyes to distinguish who the desirable girls were. _

_The girls were all stunningly beautiful, and every time one of them swirled her skirt, or twisted an arm around his neck, his body would tremble slightly and he'd weaken slightly under her touch. Before long, all the girls materialized into one swirling, graceful dancer, turning and twisting but still managing to keep her back on Raoul the entire time. He was growing impatient now, and he slowly began to approach her from behind,_ _anxious to reveal the beauty he knew was behind the curtain of flowing locks. _

_As her left arm went up in a swirling pirouette, he noticed a glimmering ring resting on the fourth finger of her left hand, its solitary stone sparkling majestically on top of its golden band. With a sharp intake of breath he recognized the girl immediately, and quickened his pace until he was right behind her, finally grabbing her shoulder and turning her around roughly. "Christine!" he cried out frantically just as he came face to face with the person he had least hoped to see. _

_Erik grinned maliciously at him from underneath his mask, fingering the lasso in his left hand, the ring having completely vanished. His beautiful Christine had somehow morphed into Erik, and Raoul was completely horrified. Raoul gave out a cry of fear as he turned and began to sprint away from Erik, running as fast as he could fueled by nothing but fear and hatred. He could hear Erik's tortuous laughs following him as he quickened his pace. He continued to run for what seemed like an eternity, but he never reached a door, a passageway, even a wall. But as he ran, everything around him started to fade, from the luminescent light that was before to an intolerably dense darkness, so thick he felt his chest close up as the last light faded from the never ending room, along with Erik's teasing cackles. Finally, he felt confident that Erik was no longer behind him, and stopped to catch his breath. _

_He looked around him, but was surrounded by nothing but darkness. He closed his eyes, giving a silent thanks to God for letting him escape Erik's grasp once again. But when he opened his eyes, he was staring straight into two glowing golden eyes, shining like headlights in the seemingly endless gloom. Raoul gave a scream of horror as he collapsed on the ground, and everything vanished into mist._

Raoul bolted upright on the couch, the scream still echoing from his lips. He was sweating frantically, yet he felt completely ice-cold. His chest was heaving unevenly, and his heart thumped wildly beneath his soaking chest. He looked around the small living room, his wide eyes scanning the odd furnishings as if he were a child who had gotten lost. He looked down at his clothing, realizing he was wearing strange European robes. Looking across the room, he saw his clothes from the night before draped across the chair in the corner. He recognized nothing in the room, forgetting for a moment that he had been there the night before, yet he noticed that most of the furnishings resembled Erik's own lair, and he couldn't help but wonder if this were Erik's real home.

However, before he could spend any more time contemplating this new theory as the memories from the night before flooded through him like a hot wave. He felt a wide, mischievous smile cross his features as he reminisced on Christine, laying in his arms as he slowly drifted off into oblivion, he himself knowing that Christine would never leave his side now that they were reunited once more. But, if that were true, then where was she at the moment? He looked around the small room, lit only by the thin shafts of sunlight coming through the extremely clean blinded window on the left side of the room.

Fear rising in his chest, he rose from the couch and began to search every room in the small apartment, hoping with all his being that he would find Christine, slumbering the day away on a guest bed or a sofa. When he did not find her in any of the rooms, he began to cry out for Christine, softly at first, but with ever-growing nervousness and panic. Where was she? Where was anybody? He seemed to be alone in the house, whoever's house it was. He remembered the strange man who had helped him the night before, but he had been too in shock from the night's events to question the man even once.

He collapsed on the couch, hoping it would help him think of where Christine might be. Surely she hadn't gone back to. . .him? Had she? He thought back to when Erik had come through the kitchen door and had frozen over the threshold, his gaze suddenly becoming icy and fierce as he looked upon Christine in Raoul's arms. He had felt a bitter wave of triumph, and had struggled to keep off the smirk of victory from his face. But then Christine had run to Erik, run to his side and leapt from Raoul as if he were a disgrace to be around, and had dashed straight to Erik's arms as if she were a pleading puppy. Erik had simply pushed past her, as if she had betrayed him by being in Raoul's embrace. Christine had looked heart-broken, and looked out the window repeatedly as Raoul attempted to sleep. In simpler terms, she had not looked pleased to see Raoul in the least.

Suddenly Raoul remembered something from the night before, something that made a wave of panic rise in his chest, and made him extremely doubt that Christine had not been 'resting' with Erik only hours before she had come out to find him in the living room. The first time he had seen Erik the night before had not been when he was coming from the kitchen, but when he was coming from the bedroom in the hall! He had walked from the room, looking strangely calm, but his eyes had flashed with hate as he noticed Raoul was conscious. But that wasn't important here, what was important was who had come out of the room only seconds afterwards.

When Erik had emerged, the top of his waistcoat was unbuttoned and his cloak looked slightly disheveled, but Raoul had been too distracted to pay attention to that crucial fact. Then, Christine had emerged from the room, wearing nothing more than a slender nightgown and a night robe. Her face had the same look of Erik's, the same calm and serene look that did not come from a simple nap. Once again, Raoul had paid these important details no mind, as his head had certainly been elsewhere. But now, the realization that Christine was no doubt having an affair with that. . . monster hit him full-force, and he found his breathing increasingly ragged as a hot jealously coursed through his body.

Why? Why would she betray him? Especially with that hideous thing. Was it because he did not save her sooner? He had tried, oh, he had tried for three weeks! He had crawled, gone without bathing, even become an alcoholic all because of Christine. And she repaid him by going off with that monster! No doubt she was probably laying in his bed with him right at that moment, laughing at Raoul's own ignorance.

Oh, he was such a fool! He laid his head in his hands, taking long, steady breaths to calm his speeding heart. Why did he have to fall for a mere chorus girl? He should have known she was no different than the other chorus girls who would give anything to have his company. He had a strong urge to cry, to cry for hours on end and hope that the salty tears would wash away the heartbreak of Christine's betrayal. And to think, he had thought her still an innocent, delicate child, the same as she had been when he had saved her scarf from the sea. But now, it was obvious that she had grown. He bolted from his place on the couch, the warm afghan he had been sitting on falling gently to the hardwood floor. The delicate way it fell was a complete opposite to the rage that was simmering within him. He was overcome with rage and contempt, and his mind was entirely clouded by his desire for revenge.

Christine would not get away with this. She had made him utterly miserable, pathetically helpless, and had offered nothing to him other than a broken heart. It was a complete disgrace to himself, and what was more, his family. He figured that the whole town probably already knew of Christine's whore-like actions, and his family would undoubtedly shun him from the household as payment of letting a filthy chorus girl fool him into thinking he had her heart. No, he would have his revenge. His face seemed to darken as he gave a sly sneer, and he began to formulate his plans, feeling abnormally evil.

Just as he was contemplating how he was going to go about getting into the lair in the first place, there was a brief and sharp knock at the door. Not knowing what to do, seeing as it wasn't his house, he walked over to the blinds and peeked through the glass.

It was the strange-looking man from the night before, and he felt confusion cloud his thoughts as he struggled to unlock the strange bolts. Wasn't he the owner of the apartment? Why didn't he have a key? He opened the door, ready to bolt questions at the strange man, but was completely cut-off my the mans thick foreign-accented greeting. "Ah! You're up. Very good, I thought you would sleep through the entire day. I'm rather glad you didn't, for I require the couch for my afternoon tea." The man pushed past Raoul, who just remained standing, dumb-founded, with the door held open. "Oh, do close the door, Monsieur Vicomte. It is rather cold." The man's tone was light and cheerful, as if Raoul was nothing more than a roommate. Finally, he got over his surprise and started to question the man once again after hastily closing the door.

"Pardon me, Monsieur- uh. . ." he struggled to remember if the man had told him his name, but quickly had his quarry answered before he could trouble himself with it any longer.

"Call me Nadir, and I shall call you Raoul!" The man's tone was still as light as before, and Raoul couldn't help but remember the change in the man's attitude from the night before. The night before he had been serious and his lips had been set in a grim line, and every once in a while he would see his head perk towards the bedroom where Raoul now knew Erik and Christine had been at that time, as if trying to listen in.

"Right, Nadir, who exactly are you? And why did you knock if you did not expect me to be wake? Surely you have your own key?"

He studied the man curiously, his eyes focusing on the elaborate gold designs and the intricate threading on his deep maroon vest. His eyes finally rested on the man's striking jade eyes, and could not break away from his strong, almost hypnotic gaze. He was an interesting man indeed.

"Oh, I'm just an old friend of Erik's. His only friend actually."

His face was no longer cheerful, his grin had fallen into a tense, grim line as his eyes became unfocused. After a few silent seconds his eyes returned to Raoul's, and his face became light and merry once again.

"And I feel it pointless to answer your last questions, Raoul, as I do not know the answers myself."

Raoul looked at the man with an annoyed expression, this man was certainly irksome. But now was not the time to think of that, he had other things to discuss. He walked to the desk where Nadir had sat himself down at and had become increasingly interested in some foreign business-looking papers set out before him. He studied the papers for a moment, noticing with intense curiosity the way the foreign letters flowed from the man's hand as he jotted down odd numbers and random facts and figures. Raoul guessed that he must've been a high noble or something of the sort in his old country, his home certainly had the atmosphere. The man did not seem to notice Raoul's unwavering gaze, as he continued on as if he were the only person in the room. He even began to hum a light tune as he ruffled the papers and went on to a new set of figures. Finally, Raoul could take the man's silence no more, and took a deep breath as he prepared to confront the strange man.

"Listen, last night, there was a woman, Christine Daae, do you remember her?" Raoul's tone was harsh and abrubt, but Nadir simply looked up at him with a cheerful grin on his face. " Monsieur, surely I would remember a person who I myself took in when she had no place to go."

Raoul looked irritated for a minute, and started to question the man again, before the realization of what Nadir had said dawned on him, and a series of lines creased his handsome brow. "Wait-. . You said she had no place to go, my estate was always welcome. Even if I wasn't there, Philippe would surely take her in, was she afraid he would push her away? Wait, what was Christine doing here in the first place? How did she meet you? Why-. . ." He was cut off by Nadir's hearty laugh.

"You have a lot of questions, boy, and you can go ahead and save your breath as I can already tell you the answers to even those you have not yet spoken." Raoul remained silent, waiting for an explanation. Nadir was taking his time, torturing Raoul as he fiddled with his fingernail and seemed to be investigating an obviously rather annoying piece of dirt on the sleeve of his robes. With a slight sniff, he turned to see Raoul's impatient expression, and he fought to fight back a snicker despite himself. He cleared his throat to add effect, and finally began his story, adding 'alterations' where necessary.

"The way I understand it, from Mademoiselle Daae, Erik released her from his lair. Obviously, she had been living with him for some time, at least that is how I perceived it. So, once she left the Opera House, she was not sure where to go, for she was. . . afraid of your reaction to her return, I guess you could put it."

"Afraid?" Raoul interrupted, completely insulted that Christine would ever be afraid of him. Nadir simply nodded.

"Not in the way you think, Monsieur. She was completely overwhelmed by Erik's previous actions-. .Oh, no, Monsieur, he did not hurt her! Never would Erik hurt her," He added hastily after seeing Raoul's terrified expression. Oh, this poor boy, what would his reaction be when he told him the truth? Well, they would get to that. Raoul nodded in understanding, urging him to go on.

"She was overwhelmed by the way he offered comfort for her in her time of sadness, and then ripped it away from her by telling her to leave."

"But-. . ." Raoul interrupted Nadir once more, but Nadir knew what he was asking.

"No, Raoul, Christine did not want to leave Erik."

There was silence in the room as Raoul felt his heart sinking lower and lower in his chest, until he felt it nearly impossible to breath. Nadir looked at him with kind eyes, knowing the hurt that the poor boy was feeling. "Go on," he choked out meekly. He had to know what had happened, no matter how much he didn't want to hear it.

"So, she was grief-stricken, she was freezing, she had nowhere to go, and she remembered me from a brief-and rather foolish if I might add, on Erik's part- incident where Erik forgot to purchase more tea, so he had to bring Christine with him to my apartment to retrieve some from my cupboard."

He ended up stealing the whole box.", Nadir added with a light air of annoyance, before continuing.

"So, I guess she figured that I was the only place she had to go, so I took her in and she told me her whole story."

"And, what is her whole story?"Raoul asked hesitantly, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Nadir simply smiled gently. "I can not give you that information yet, Monsieur." Raoul nodded once again, and Nadir went on, this time without interruptions.

"Well, after she had informed me about the reason she had come here, I showed her where she was to sleep for the night. I left her to her privacy, and had just begun working on my business letters when Erik started pounding on the door, nearly tearing it from the hinges." Nadir gave a light smirk, remembering the ordeal.

"I opened the door for him, and this is where you come in, dear Vicomte. He came in carrying you in his arms, and he thrust you upon the couch- rather roughly if I might add- and asked where I was to keep you. Rather rude of him, was it not? Well, that's Erik for you. Anyhow, I knew Christine would come bursting from her room any minute to find out what all the fuss was, so I took that time to get _his_ story. Not that there was anything interesting in his, as he is as stubborn as a mule, no matter how much of a genius he is.

"So now, I can presume, you would like to know where Christine has gone?" He asked this with slight hesitation, knowing he would have to tell Raoul the truth. As much as he resented himself at times for it, he was never a liar. Raoul waited silently, failing horribly at trying to mask his curiosity. Nadir stood up from his seat and started to go into the kitchen. Raoul jumped up and cornered Nadir before he even noticed anything, and Nadir couldn't hide the shock that crossed his face at the speed of the young Vicomte. Why, it was hardly a comparison to Erik, but that went without saying. Nadir sighed softly. He had to tell him.

He gestured with his eyes towards the couch, and once again sat across from Raoul in the large, over-stuffed armchair where he had sat only the night before, confronting Erik. He thought of the best way to go about telling him the truth, but still unable to mutter even one word as his mind flashed back on his promise to Christine. She did not love this man, and Nadir only wished the pitiful boy could see it. He cleared his throat, prepared to tell the truth in the most subtle way he could manage. The boy was leaning curiously towards him on the edge of the couch, his fingers dancing impatiently on his bouncing knees as if he were a child about to receive a birthday present. He looked at the man in remorse, knowing what he was about to say would make the eager grin fall from his face and vanish into his features as if it had never existed.

"She is with her Angel." Just as Nadir had predicted, Raoul's visage instantly became crest-fallen as he stood from his spot on the couch, the bitter rage once again boiling in his throat. "So it is true," he spat, glaring at Nadir as if it were his fault Christine was with Erik. "She is honestly having an affair with that monster?" Nadir looked at him calmly, but his jade eyes were cold and icy as he glared daggers at the bold Vicomte.

"Erik is not a monster, and you would do well to not insult him. And Mademoiselle Daae is not having an affair with Erik, so I would relax if I were yourself, Monsieur."

Raoul looked at him in disbelief, as if he had thought that Nadir would be in the same state of rage and jealousy as he was at that moment. He frowned as he returned Nadir's harsh glare, all cheerfulness of minutes before instantly dissolved in that one gaze.

"Then what, Monsieur, do you presume she is doing, if she is not having an affair?" He asked the question coolly, but Nadir could tell that it was coated with absolute loathing. He found himself liking this young noble less and less. He simply stood from his position and strode into the kitchen, followed closely by the agitated Vicomte. He started to prepare the tea, and Nadir could practically hear the Vicomte's impatience seeping through the entire room, and he felt himself sinfully enjoying this silent torture.

"Monsieur, please remind me to the conditions of an affair?" He asked lazily, as if he were having trouble teaching a simple method to a foolish child. Nadir could tell that Raoul did not understand his question, or was taking an extraordinary long time to think, so he answered his own question.

"As I have come to understand, an affair is a condition in where two people become sexually involved why one of the partners is meanwhile seeing another, thus leading a private life. Christine did not leave a private life, she never told you she loved you then ran off into the arms of Erik whilst you went unknowing, did she?"

Raoul was silent. Good, Nadir did not expect an answer. He finally turned back to the Vicomte after finally setting his tea water boiling. With an ever-growing look of ceaseless intelligence, he drank in the Vicomte's stunned expression as he completed his explanation.

"So, you see, dear Vicomte, whatever life she has been leading with Erik is none of your concern, as she never pledged herself to you except for a brief engagement which, if you might have noticed, is obviously no longer taking place." Raoul had noticed, he had witnessed with his own eyes the empty ring finger of her left hand, but had at the moment simply thought Erik had taken the ring from her. Or been given it. He opened her mouth several times as if battling to say something, but always closed it back when he couldn't find the words.

Nadir felt pity for him then, but would not tell him anything that would cause him to act irrationally. He would make Raoul understand. He had too. He poured them both a hot cup of tea, sliding one across the table to Raoul. He took it without a word, and silently sipped it as he stared into the wood of the cabinets above Nadir's head. Nadir gave him a few moments to process what he had been told, and when Raoul's eyes finally came to rest on his own he cleared his throat once more, hoping it would be the last time he would have to explain anything that night.

"She loves him, Monsieur. I think she always has since he first came to her in her childhood. You were, in a way, her romantic awakening, but I do not think it was ever more than that. But she never once thought ill of you or lied to you, she simply was young and naive. She did not understand her desires, neither could she differentiate between the unmistakable pull she felt towards her Angel, and the warmness of your protective embrace. She was scared of his mystique, frightened by his utter presence. He was intimidating, yet she loved ever bit of that danger of him. However, she was always too childish to understand. But as you very well know, she was forced to live with him for some time, and I can only guess that she came to realize her true desires in that time."

Raoul regarded him with curiosity, staring in amazement as the man spoke with such easiness of the true desires of his ex-fiancé. Realization seemed to dawn on him for a moment, but not long enough as he stifled it was the foolish jealousy that still tugged at his heart. Nadir seemed to sense his still-present jealously, and gave an audible sigh as he buried his head in his arms. This man was definitely a piece of word. Maybe even a bit more obnoxious than Erik.

"Where are they?" Raoul asked with renewed strength that was fueled only with his desire to take away all of Erik and Christine's happiness. He had struggled for too long to find her to have her in the arms of that beast. He was already standing before the words were out of his mouth, and had already gathered his freshly washed deep brown dress coat that was draped across the couch before Nadir answered.

"I cannot tell you Monsieur, I am afraid of your actions." Raoul had been expecting these words, and simply smirked as he strode from the apartment, slamming the door confidently behind him. He ran down the steps, nearly slipping on the wet dew that had rested on the railings and rusted steps of the stairs. He continued running, never stopping even when the cold continued to beat against his freshly tear stained face and his weak legs threatened to give out underneath him. Finally, with a heaving, gasping breath, he reached the front door of the Paris Opera House. Knowing who laid inside, he took a deep breath as he grasped the blackened metal handle. This was it, he would have his revenge on Christine and Erik. He wasn't sure what he would do, but he was satisfied that anything that would cause Christine the most pain would suffice. Calming his nerves, he said a silent prayer, and quietly pushed the door open to the darkness.

**XXXXXXX**

**Blech, I don't like this one. Review and tell me how much you hate it! Next chap will be better, I promise.**


	11. Tensions Run High

"**To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love; but then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love; to be happy then is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy; therefore to be unhappy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. "- Love and Death**

**haha i love that quote, so confusing yet it makes sense once u read it a few hundred times. Anywho, thanks to my reviewers, now let the tension begin! DUN DUN DUN!**

**Chapter 11:Tensions Run High**

Erik stirred the fire burning in the stone hearth as he gave a content yawn. A tender and peaceful smile played across his lips as he stood from his position in front of the fire and turned to look at Christine. She was sprawled across his huge swan bed, her legs intertwined in the satin sheets and her hair laying messily across the pillow. With the familiar fire starting within him, he studied the way her chest, barely visible beneath the thin satin coverlet, rose and fell with each steady breath. She looked completely content, a faint smile lighting up her delicate features.

Images of the night before repeated unceasingly in his head as he tried to go about his business. Every time he would attempt to sit and read a book or play at his organ, he would see Christine, pressed up against him, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss, or, her arms around his neck and her steady, sleeping breath warming his neck. He strode towards Christine's sleeping form in nothing but a black satin robe and black trousers and sat on the edge of his bed as he began to stroke her tender flesh. Even in sleep, he saw her shudder under his sensual touch, and he leaned down to gently press a kiss to her forehead.

When he pulled back from her porcelain skin and stood from her bedside, he suddenly felt an odd uneasiness. What if, when the time came for them to. . .join, if, of course, they did, what if he didn't please her as Raoul would?He was slightly sure now, by what Christine had said the night before, thatChristine might want them to get married, andthen, being herhusband(he shuddered at the thought), he wouldhave to. . .takeher innocence. Surely Raoul would offer her every pleasure she desired, if he were given the chance. He would try to be alluring, to be desirable, but what if it wasn't enough? She might seemed pleased, but he knew nothing of such intimate relations, what if everyone felt that way when they were 'interacting' with any person at all? He thought back to his taste of Heaven, as small as it was, and recalled vividly her tongue dancing with his, her arms gripping his sleeves and showing no sign of displeasure. Slightly satisfied that she could be pleased even that much, he began to tend to the fire once again.

Like before, he stopped. He suddenly had a thought, one that made him drop the hot iron poker and start convulsing as he stood from his position and hastily ran from the room. He flung himself onto the bench of his organ and buried his head in his hands, realizing the miserable truth of the situation. He could never take Christine. She had said she loved him, but that could not have been the truth! He was not entirely certain why, perhaps it was the fact that he had never been loved before, but he could not accept that Christine truly loved him for him. How could she see behind the monster? The thought that had ran him from the room continued to echo in his already aching head, and he struggled fruitlessly to drive it from his mind. But still, it continued to repeat, as if it were getting revenge on the pitiful creature for thinking of such pleasures.

_If Christine becomes pregnant. . .what would happen if. .if. .What if the child looks like. . .me?_

He knew enough about children to know that they inherited the traits of both mother and father, so the child was bound to have some deformity because of the poor thing's cursed father. It wasn't as if he was disgusted to have to raise an ugly son or daughter , if it were his he would love it as if it were a baby god or goddess. But, his mother. . .

He feared Christine's reaction. He wanted her to have a beautiful and perfectly flawless life in every aspect, and that had already been ruptured by his being. But for her to be cursed with two deformed souls, he did not want Christine to have to face the burden of raising another being that held the likeness of himself. Not that he didn't find Christine loving in every aspect, but he couldn't help but think of how his own childhood had been, and he couldn't bear to have Christine forced to prevent that from happening to their child. But what could he do? Christine may have been pregnant at that very moment, if he had given into her the night before, his demon seed planted firmly in Christine's womb. Their passion _might _be complete ecstasy, but he would inevitably have to pay the price. Christine would want children.

He needed air.

He went to his room and quickly pulled one of his many roses lying on his bedside and hastily pulled a black satin ribbon from the top drawer of his bureau. He tied it around the rose quickly but elegantly, pulling the ties into a gentle bow. He went into Christine's room, thankful that Christine was still asleep, he could not risk her seeing him in his current state and prying the truth from him. He wanted her happiness to last as long as he could prolong it.

He placed the rose on the pillow next to her, giving her forehead one last gentle kiss before grabbing his shirt from the floor. He swiftly threw the shirt on and pulled his cloak on afterwards, and after pulling on his boots he strode from his lair.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

Christine groaned as she rolled over in the huge bed, shivering as the cover fell from her shoulders and exposed her weary flesh to the cool air. She gave a wide smile as her eyes rested on the red rose resting on her pillow. Last night had been, in one word, perfect, despite the lack of what she had _truly _desired. She had waited so long for Erik to finally give in, but she knew she would have to wait. Now, with her desires temporarily sated after a blissful night of laying contently in Erik's arms, she felt an odd calm wash over her and a pleasant fluttering in her lower abdomen.

She was so caught up in her rapture that she briefly forgot that Erik was no longer in the bed with her. She frowned as she realized she had been denied the pleasure of waking in his arms. _He was probably in another of his mood swings_, she realized with a sudden dread coursing through her.

Why couldn't he ever just stay pleased? If one thing didn't irritate him, then the next thing surely would. Even after he had offered her his comforting arms and warm, passionate kisses, he was probably sitting at his organ pouting. Despite his immaturity, she found his whole act strangely attractive. God, she loved him so much it was starting to frighten her. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of poor Raoul, who was probably busy interrogating every member of the ballet to find out where she was residing. But she loved Erik, and she promised herself not to let Raoul come between them. She would make it official when she finally gave herself to him, and then he would truly be _her _Angel.

She thought about going to Erik to comfort him, but as she started to get up from their bed,. .- _their bed._ . .she smiled wickedly at this thought before brushing it from her mind- she felt her eyes grow heavy. She would talk to him later, she decided. He probably wanted some time to vent anyhow. She was drifting into a blissful state of unconsciousness when the distant sound of sloshing water outside her room alerted Christine that someone was there. She felt a fear swell within her as she did her best to cover her simple nightgowned- body with the red coverlet, knowing it was not Erik that had walked into his home, as his steps were always graceful and stealthy. She held her breath as the person's footsteps became more pronounced, and the ragged breathing became more evident from beyond the black veil.

Oh God, what if it were someone from the Opera? What would they do if they found her? _How_ had they gotten there in the first place? What if they took her from Erik? What if they took her from her one true love just as she had finally discovered the pleasures of being in love at all? Finally her breath caught in her throat as the veil was thrown back, and the intruder's person was made drastically clear to Christine as he stood at the foot of her bed, completely in awe of her current state.

_Raoul._

_Raoul._

_Raoul._

_No! _Her mind screamed repeatedly as she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping with all her being that he would disappear when she opened her eyes. _Not now! Not when everything was perfect! How did he know? Why did he have to come? Why!_

She opened her eyes slowly, and felt a wave of dismay as she saw Raoul still standing in the same position as before, but his eyes had a strange steeliness Christine had not seen when Raoul had come in. He knew. Or, he thought he knew. She knew what he was thinking, as she was sitting there in Erik's bed, with only a thin nightgown on and Erik's jacket laying on the floor next the bed, a look of pure pleasure painted across her features when she was supposed to be waiting for Raoul to come and rescue her. Plus, it didn't help that she was just staring at him in horror. Never had anything been more obvious. He had every right to be angry with her, and she would have been more pleased if he began to lecture her rather than have to deal with his uneasy silence. Finally, she could take his unnerving silence no longer, and remarked in a strangely placid tone,"It is not polite to walk in on ladies without permission, Raoul."

He did not speak, but his gaze hardened and his mouth set into a grim line as his eyes rested on the red rose lying on her pillow. He was fairly surprised that Erik was not with her, enveloping her small frame in his repulsive embrace. Raoul felt the anger stirring in his stomach, but forced it down for the time. Now was not the moment for anger, it was the moment for answers. Raoul noticed Christine looked fairly uneasy, and he knew she knew he was about to begin interrogating her. He studied her for a moment before beginning.

"Yes, it was rather ungentlemanly to walk in on you in your obvious state of undress. Tell me, dearest Christine, why you are wearing such a nightgown, which is really nothing more than a piece of fabric?" The word _dearest_ was coated with obvious sarcasm, and she felt her own anger threatening to surface, but she forced it away and kept her tone strangely calm. Erik had taught her well.

"Honestly, Raoul, it is only more improper to inquire about a lady's personal business, is it not? Surely a noble of your status would know that."

She wasn't sure why she was being so cruel, it wasn't Raoul's fault he had come after her. He didn't realize she didn't love him as he wished she did. It was completely unfair to both of them, in the sense that Raoul could never be happy thinking she was miserable with Erik, whereas Christine could never live knowing Raoul was constantly worrying about nothing. She sighed and closed her eyes as Raoul's silence once again filled the air with a thick tension, and she forced herself to remain collected. Expecting a sarcastic retort, she was completely taken aback when she heard Raoul whimper before her. Her eyes flew open as he looked at her in anguish, a look she had never known Raoul to possess.

"Why, Christine? Why didn't you tell me you loved him and not me? Why did you feel it fit to torture my soul?"

This was not going as he had planned it. His original intention was to get to Erik's lair, capture her and take her back to his estate, then marry her as quickly as possible. But now, he was turning into a weak child in front of her. He hated Christine so much yet she pained him each time he thought of her in Erik's arms.

Why couldn't he think of her as the whore he thought her as only hours before? She looked so innocent, so remarkably pure even though she had been robbed of her innocence only recently by a monster.

Christine was avoiding his gaze, focusing her brown eyes on the satin sheets twisted around her torso as she chewed the inside of her lip. What was she supposed to say? Should she tell him the truth? Oh, God no, he'd hate her forever. She was at a loss for what to do, and found herself wishing Erik would come back from wherever he had gone and save her from having to deal with Raoul. She gave a sigh as she realized she had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, Raoul would never give up. Wrapping the cover tighter against her body, she rose from her bed and asked him politely to wait in the parlor while she changed, and then she swore to tell him everything.

He nodded curtly, and Christine noticed with a stab of pity that his expression was pained as he left from her room. Collapsing against the bed, she buried her face in the pillow as she cursed her whole life. _Why couldn't she and Erik be happy together in peace? How long would she be paying for her betrayal?_ She forced herself to get up from the warm bed, and slowly put on a modest yet tasteful midnight blue gown. Not even bothering to brush her hair, she strode from the room and treaded nervously toward where Raoul sat on the Persian couch.

She avoided Raoul's gaze as she sat across from him in Erik's own personal chair, and she resisted the urge to inhale the smell of Erik's cologne that seemed to envelop her as she sat in the chair. Suddenly, all of her fear was gone, and she found herself pouring her heart out to him, telling him everything from how she had thought she loved Raoul but it was nothing but her childish fantasies of a storybook romance, to her night of slending comfort in the arms of her angel, leaving out all of the actual intimate moments. Raoul remained silent through her entire tale, never once interrupting to add comments or question her motives. Finally, she completed her story, and waited in silence for Raoul's reaction.

**XxXxXxXx**

Erik left the house in a haze, still consumed by his earlier thought. He walked for hours, not sure of where he was going, but always managing to remain in the shadows. It was still fairly early in the morning, so the streets were not quite so busy and it was easy for him to avoid running into strangers in his fog. Finally, hours of walking seemed to pay off, and the fog cleared. He relaxed his mind, understanding that any decisions or contemplations about their possible child had to be discussed with Christine. Feeling more resolute and calm now that he had a firm decision, he decided to do something productive since he was smack dab in the middle of the shopping and business district of Paris. Remembering he was low on food, he went to the market and purchased several fruits and meats before visiting the florist and buying a dozen fresh roses.

Contemplating what his next move should be, he perceived, with slight pain in his heart, that Christine would not be happy living underground all her life. He would have to leave his home for Christine's sake, no matter how much it made his heart ache to leave his first masterpiece behind. H e would risk anything for Christine's delight. He went to the nearest post office, and, after receiving a piece of paper and envelope from the worker, hastily wrote a letter and addressed it to a place on the outskirts of Paris. Feeling rather pleased with himself, Erik left the post office and headed back towards his home.

As he approached the entrance, he felt like nothing more than a husband gone to run errands for his loving wife. He loved the feeling. He was smiling like a complete fool, uncaring, by the time he reached the passageway leading directly into his lair. He strolled into the kitchen and set his purchases on the counter before heading towards Christine's room. He stood outside the black veil, arm poised to push it back when he froze.

There were voices coming from the parlor. One he recognized immediately, the voice he would no anywhere. Christine. And the other, . . .

He fingered his lasso beneath his cloak.


	12. The Confrontation and the Resolve

**Once again, thanks to all my reviewers and my lovely beta! **

**Chapter 12:** **The Confrontation and The Resolve**

Raoul was silent. Christine did not dare move for fear of invoking some horrible reaction from the man she was once affianced to.

Erik stood outside the door to the parlor, his ear pressed roughly against the dark wood, as he strained to hear the voices of the people he knew resided within. He jumped slightly as he heard the foolish fop give an enraged cry.

"You little whore!"

Christine's mouth fell open as she sat in shock of her childhood friend's harsh words. She had just poured her heart out to him, told him everything of her life thinking he would understand, and he dared to call her a whore? Her mouth closed and formed a grim line as she fought to keep her own rage at bay. He would not get away with that. She didn't dare flinch as Raoul continued his furious rant.

"You profess your love to me, and then, not even a month- _not even a **month **Christine_**-** after you were left with that _monster_, you share his bed! Tell me, how long will it be before you have sex with that monster? I can tell you want it, you both do! Not even I was ever granted such liberties, Christine, and you expect me to understand? He does not love you, he _lusts_ for you, and you do nothing but quench his lust! I am quite surprised that his monster seed isn't planted inside you at this moment! All because you are so. . ._Christian? _Well, that's a little pointless, isn't it, seeing as he's a demon from Hell. I hardly think such a think would matter now. He has taken your innocence Christine! You have let him rob you of your tenderness!

" I do not know why you harbor such feelings for such a beast, but it will result in nothing but your own grief! Do you know what this monster has done to _me_, your childhood friend? Do you not remember the night of Don Juan, when you gave yourself up for _me_? Do you not remember the way he threw that lasso around my neck, the way he- . . . " Christine gave a cry of anger as she lurched from her seat, unable to sit through his foolish tirade.

Raoul fell quiet instantly as she lashed out at him just as fiercely, all pity and regret she had had before instantly dissipating as she approached the man she once loved, her voice seething with anger.

"And do _you_ not remember, my dear Raoul, who it is that saved you when you happened upon his lair, almost near death because of your illness that you brought about yourself? Do you not remember the fact that he did nothing that night to harm you, and you threatened him with a pistol?

"Oh, and let me remind you of who it was that brought you to the only person who knew the cure of your illness, when he quite easily could have left you to rot!" She was completely out of breath, her chest having as she tried to calm her racing heart. What a fool Raoul was!

She glared at him, her eyes brown pools of fire. Raoul looked taken-aback, and he did nothing but open and close his mouth continually until the fire came into his own eyes. He put his chin in the air like a haughty child, and opened his mouth to retort before Christine once again cut him off.

"I am not finished."

Raoul's face fell, and his haughty face turned ashen as he collapsed in a chair.

"You always think me a child, Raoul! I am a grown woman! I am not your Little Lotte, nor will I ever be again. You think of me as the same girl I was ten years ago, and I don't understand why you won't allow me to grow up.

"Erik treats me like the woman I am. He does not simply lust for me, he looks at me with the same adoration I show him every day. There is love there, but not the overprotective, childish adoration I always get from you. I do not need your protection, nor do I need your presence when I am perfectly happy here with Erik. I love him, and always will! Do not fool yourself in thinking my heart belongs to you."

Raoul's eyes flashed for a moment, before melting into cold, blue daggers that scrutinized Christine as if she were nothing more than a whore at a brothel. Christine remained silent, awaiting Raoul's inevitable come back.

"You're absolutely right. My Little Lotte is gone. And in her place is a lunatic who's fallen in love with a- . . . " Christine broke him off before he could finish, her voice a menacing hiss.

"Don't you _dare_ insult Erik in my presence. He is more a man than you will ever hope to be." Behind the door, Erik stood, mouth agape, staring at the door as if it had just sprung to life. Christine had just insulted her past lover _and_ defended him in the same sentence! He could hardly breathe!

There was silence from within, and he could only guess Raoul was as taken aback by surprise as he was. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling at the moment, but all he could make out was his immense astonishment at Christine's sudden growth of courage. She had always been a brave girl, but this was just astounding!

His mind reeled as he tried to take in all that Christine had said. Had she said she loved him? In front of _Raoul_? He wasn't certain he'd ever be able to get over this. He had also heard that fop call her a whore _and_ a lunatic, and had to force himself to keep his anger to a minimum and focus on the conversation going on behind the door.

He once again put his ear to the door, thinking they were perhaps whispering at a level he couldn't hear. Instead, he heard the rustle of fabric as if someone had stood, and Christine's angry command. "Sit." There was once again silence, and Erik couldn't imagine what else Christine could have to say to him. Regardless, he was rather enjoying his sinful eavesdropping.

He heard the rustle of fabric again, and knew Raoul had sat. Christine's next words took him by complete surprise.

"You can come in now, Erik. No point in you continuing that foolish eavesdropping." Her voice was no longer angry, and he could've sworn there was humor hidden beneath the exterior of her words, but he was too surprised to concern himself with that. He stood back from the door, completely appalled, before stepping nervously into the room.

Raoul's eyes shot to his face, and he could practically feel the fire being pierced into his scalp. He felt strangely vulnerable, and he wished Raoul would quit staring at him. It was rather unnerving.

He avoided Raoul completely, looking at Christine as if asking why he had to be brought into this. She gave a small smile, before instructing him to sit. He obliged, once again amazed by Christine's bravery at giving him an order, him!

In silence they sat, Raoul glaring at Erik, Erik pleading with his eyes for Christine to let him leave, and Christine looking at them both in strong determinedness. At that moment, despite all that had transpired between Raoul and Christine, despite all that Raoul had said to her, insulting her and whatnot, all of Erik's emotions were blinded then by his immense love for Christine. He loved her more at that brief moment as he gazed at her -sitting upright and looking more tense and on the edge than he had ever seen her- than he ever had. He knew he would die if for whatever reason, Raoul won in his attempt to win back Christine's heart.

He felt a twinge of fear in his stomach as this thought invaded his mind, but as he gazed into Christine's eyes, he saw the same love there that he felt for her every second. She smiled at him, before instructing him to look into Raoul's eyes. He looked confused for a moment, but obliged for the simple reason that he could never deny her anything.

He looked towards Raoul, and was unsurprised to find him still regarding him with that murderous gaze that was burning into his skull.

When their eyes met, Erik felt every ounce of hate that Raoul felt towards him pour into his soul, before he realized that it wasn't hate at all. No. It was something he had felt all too often in his miserable life. It was pure jealously.

Raoul was looking at him incredulously, as if studying him to find out what Christine could ever desire in such a person. Erik simply looked, knowing he had won anyway.

Christine let them sit for a moment, Erik savoring his victory, Raoul scrutinizing Erik as if he were the devil's son himself.

Finally, Christine's voice, smooth and clear, rung through both their minds, causing them to awake from their childish thoughts.

"Raoul, you look into the eyes of the man I love, the man that I have always loved and always hope to love. You study him as if his face is enough to fuel my hatred, but it does nothing but increase my love for him.

"Erik, you look into the eyes of the boy with whom I was once infatuated, the boy who has reduced from the loving sweetheart from my childhood to an arrogant aristocrat who is too stubborn to realize that I am not the child I once was." She then settled her gaze on Raoul, who seemed to cower beneath her now-penetrating eyes. She softened at the sight of his weakness instead of lashing out.

"Oh Raoul, please understand. I do not wish to gain the hatred of the only friend I had in childhood. Why you cannot understand my feelings is only more proof of your blindness to my age." She spoke softly, as a mother would to a child.

"I refuse to let you leave until you promise me you accept my feelings." Raoul had stood to leave, wanting nothing more than to leave this embarrassing confrontation before he burst into tears of hate and longing. But at Christine's request, he stopped before reaching the door.

"No, Christine, I will never accept your feelings. But only because you are correct. I will never be able to forget my Little Lotte, and I will never be able to look at you without seeing that little girl for whom I saved the scarf from the sea."And with that, he reached under his dress coat, and pulled out the blue scarf he had saved all those years. He threw it upon her lap, where she looked at it in utter astonishment before looking up at him with tears in her eyes. Why was he making this so hard? All she wanted to do was run away with Erik, and have him love her until she died. Was it so difficult to find happiness?

She tried to push it back into his grasp, but he placed it firmly in her small hands. The tears were streaming down her cheeks now, and her back lurched with her choked sobs as the weight of her burden finally settled in. She was sending her childhood friend away, she had broken his heart and pushed him away for a disfigured genius living beneath the opera house, a man who had murdered two people just that she knew of.

Suddenly, she didn't know why she was doing this, he was a murderer, and here was Raoul, desperate for her to stay, offering her comfort and protection. But as she looked into Erik's eyes, the tears stopped flowing, and she felt her heart skip a beat as she observed the childish way he was looking upon the intimate scene with mild jealousy, and she gave a laugh as she realized she knew exactly why she was doing this.

She accepted the scarf, and looked upon it with a new light in her eyes, without any regret or sorrow. She looked up at Raoul, trying to pour her feelings into his eyes.

He finally seemed to understand, and walked slowly towards the door. His eyes never left Christine's as he touched the knob, but his eyes flashed to Erik before he muttered a good-bye and left the room.

Christine and Erik sat in silence, still trying to digest everything that had happened in the mere fifteen minutes that had passed. Finally, all of Christine's feelings spilled out, and she leapt up from her seat, discarding the scarf by the chair. She ran to Erik's side, throwing her arms around his neck in a pleading embrace. He tensed, still not used to her willingness to show affection. He sat awkward for a moment, before embracing her in his own arms. She was crying into his shoulder, releasing all the anger and pain at what had been said out through her tears.

She drew back from him, staring into his green eyes as the tears continued to fall. She was at a loss for what to say, and he seemed to be in the same predicament as her. Finally, Christine let out a hoarse laugh as she laid her head on his shoulder, sighing as she felt his fingers caressing the tense muscles of her shoulders.

"Erik, you don't think I'm a. . .whore, do you?" He drew back from her in surprise, partly amazed at the fact that that was what was causing Christine pain, but also amazed that she would ask such a thing.

He placed his hand underneath her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. She looked so much like a child then, so vulnerable and so easily breakable. He placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, reluctant to pull away but knew Christine wanted an answer. He smiled as he saw her closed eyes, her face tilted as if begging for more. She opened her eyes, looking into his for an answer.

" Never, Christine. What could cause you to ask such a thing?" She looked embarrassed for a moment, before breaking eye contact and giving a small shrug.

"I guess it was because I was anticipating everything else he said, but that kind of caught me off guard. I certainly would not want to be thought of as such, and I was rather confused by what gave him that idea. It's not as though I've given myself to anyone." She blushed at her words, before turning back to Erik. She gave him a small kiss, before clambering off of him and starting for the door.

Since they had been rather open with each other lately, he figured now would be the only time to confront her about his own self-conscience thought.

"Christine. . ." She stopped right before she reached the doorknob, and turned back to look at him with a questioning look in her face. She could tell he was nervous about something.

She walked back to him, settling herself down next to him on the couch. He tried to tell her what he was trying to say, but all he could do was open his mouth and close it like a bumbling fool. He felt her intertwine her fingers with his, and he somehow found the courage to speak.

"Christine, I need to talk to you about something. . ." She nodded, urging him to go on. But, just before he started to speak, he studied her. He studied the way she was looking at him with pure love and concern, completely oblivious to his mask and ignoring all the horrors of his past. She loved him, just as much as he loved her. Suddenly, all his doubts were gone. About children or otherwise. Feeling suddenly confident about the life ahead of him, he leaned over towards Christine, placing a kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear, "Christine, I love you."

Her face lit up, and she kissed him full on the lips before taking both of his hands in hers. He smiled, squeezing her hands tightly before turning away from her face. In his chest, his heart was constricted. He couldn't believe this. She was here, with him, had stuck up for him, and now. . .

He gasped as she slipped her arms around his waist, grasping him tightly and burying her face in his neck, inhaling his subtle masculine scent.

"I love you too, Erik."

---------------------------------------

Raoul left the bowels of the opera house in a heated rage, one that he had kept contained until he had fully left that damned lair that he offically hated with a passion. He had weakened, had given up. Now Christine was free to live out the rest of her pathetic life with that monster, and he was powerless to stop it.

Well, perhaps not. He grinned as an idea formed in his mind.


	13. The Plan is Set

**Hey people! finally updating! ok, this chapter was kinda hard for me, becuz its kinda like the turning point becuz raoul gets this little idea in his head and the Giry's come into the story and stuff like that, so it was kinda hard for me. But anyways, i have to thank all my new reviewers and my faithful reviewers who have been with me from the start..and my wonderful beta AngeMusique so, big props to her, as well as Dani, you're awesome. also thanks to Erik's Secret Admirer, Twinkle22, Freakstar, Jamea, and MyDarkAngelErik. you guys are the best!**

_Dear Madame Giry,  
It has come to my attention that the Opera Populaire is in desperate need of both former ballet members and our beloved former ballet mistress. _

_The Opera was severely damaged by the 'mishap' of the previous month, but repairs are already underway. I am fully aware of the fact that you and your daughter are perfectly content in your current home, but if you return to the opera your transportation and rent at the Populaire will be paid for personally by myself.  
_

_As the patron of the opera, it was requested by the managers that I attempt to recruit as many members of our previous house and revive our opera in the hopes that we will all forget about the pains of the past. I hope you will consider my offer, and in return, you- and your daughter- will be bestowed upon with my sincerest gratitude.  
Much Respect,  
Vicomte De Chagny  
_

_Please send your response by mail as quickly as possible to the De Chagny estate, and if you oblige to my offer I shall be in Rome in two day's time.  
_

Madame Giry read the note carefully, wanting to believe the words right in front of her, but unable to stifle the feeling that something was  
amiss. Raoul seemed unusually calm and friendly considering the fact that Christine was imprisoned beneath the opera house at that very  
moment, and she found it rather unlikely that he would be as blasé as he seemed in the letter, if Christine was still being held captive.

Perhaps Erik had released her and Raoul had married Christine? No, surely not. Madame Giry, for whatever reason, simply could not imagine Christine living a life of such propriety and being happy with it. Regardless of the letter's truth or not, she had agreed and sent her response by the fastest mail possible, as instructed by the letter. Her suitcases were packed and she was prepared as she was going to get, while Meg was still making last minute preparations for the long trip ahead. Madame Giry's heart ached for her young daughter, who had been extremely depressed over the past month, completely convinced Christine was being tortured by the man she considered nothing other than a monster.

She had gotten angry at Madame Giry several times, unable to understand why they had left Christine with that monster. Madame Giry had chosen not to explain, knowing it would be an exploitation of Erik's personal life.

She was thankful they would be returning to their former home, and Meg was as well, no doubt already formulating plans to rescue her friend. As much as she was upset with the fact she had to leave her beautiful home in Rome, that she had bought with her saved funds from her days as the ballet mistress, she longed to be back in the glorious halls of the opera house, to be able to coach the young girls who were as precious o her as daughters, and she knew Meg longed to once again be the lead ballerina, and to be amongst her old friends.

It had been two days now and she knew Raoul would be there any minute. She realized there were things to be discussed. She had never been very fond of the boy; he seemed like nothing more than an aristocrat and a charmer, who's only good attributes were his face and his flirtatious words. However, she would have to cope with him until she got the answers she needed.

With Christine being as much a daughter to her as Meg was, Madame Giry was extremely anxious to learn of her well-being. Was she still living underneath the opera house? Had Erik harmed her? Was she still alive? She shook her head, knowing the answers to the last questions already. The thought that Erik would ever harm her, or that he would let any harm befall her, was completely preposterous. He loved her more than his own life filled with music, and Madame Giry had no doubt in her mind that he would be willing to give his own life for hers.

However, Madame Giry was more worried about the fact that Erik had never had any experience. . .with a woman. She wasn't entirely sure what Christine felt for Erik, but by the way she had acted in Don Juan-before ripping his mask off, she could easily guess. If Christine truly loved him Madame Giry was frightened Erik would not know what to do to show her his own love. He had never been loved by anyone, including his parents, and he might not believe in her claims of love for him. He would yell and rage at her, demanding that she stop what he considered a "pity act". Christine would be heartbroken, perhaps as heartbroken as Erik himself, and sometimes a broken heart hurt more than physical pain. All in all, she was getting rather impatient while she waited for Raoul  
to arrive.

**XXXXXXXX**

Raoul opened the door to his private carriage, squinting as the sun's rays glared mercilessly upon his tired body, showing his exhaustion  
from the ten hour ride from Paris to Rome. Holding up his hand to shield his face, he quickly fished out a few francs and handed them to the driver before instructing him to come back in three days. The driver nodded his grungy head, before turning around and heading towards town.

When Raoul saw the carriage disappear around the corner, leaving stirred-up dust from the dirt road in its place, he turned to observe his surroundings. It was certainly unlike anything he'd ever seen before. In the entirety of his life, he had never been anywhere other than Paris, and of course Sweden, where he had grown up. But Rome surpassed everything he had ever seen, and everything that he could have imagined. At that moment, he understood what had compelled Madame Giry to live here.

The weather was cold, but that was only to be expected as it was mid-February, he could only imagine how pleasant the weather would be when spring came. Despite the cold, it was not unpleasant in the least. The property he was standing on stretched for miles on either side of the road, and the grass was lush and green under the clear, cloudless skies.

In the distance, he could just make out the city, where large eroding buildings were erected throughout the town, making Raoul feel as if he were in ancient times instead of just modern Rome. He took in a deep breath of the crisp air before starting to tread towards the house situated at the top of the hill.

He trudged on for about ten minutes before reaching the large oak doors of the three-story manor. In the ten minutes that he walked, he  
thought of nothing but his plan to get Christine back. The plan still had a lot of holes, as he had conjured it up in the spur of the moment. The outcome depended completely on Christine's emotions. His plan was simple. The letter he had written was a lie, as the managers had never asked him to recruit the old opera crew. He had gone to them and lied through his teeth by saying that Madame Giry and Meg needed somewhere to stay while their house was repaired from a rather nasty storm. He had requested permission for Madame Giry and her daughter to stay at the opera until their home had undergone several repairs, and insisted he paid for the stay. They had agreed, but were a little confused by both his sudden show of such compassion, as well as his wish for them to stay at the burned opera house. Oh, it was definitely being repaired, but the process was going extremely slow. He was a little unconvinced himself, he could hardly believe they bought such a foolish lie but that was in the past, they had agreed, and now his trap was set.

Meg would go back to the opera house with her mother, and would seek Christine out and speak with her. They would have a nice long chat, maybe go out for tea, and Christine would realize her longing for the surfaced life. She would then-he hoped- seek Erik's assent to move back in with civilization. He would refuse, saying he had no wish to leave his home, or reveal himself to the public eye. He was a hunted man, after all.

If Raoul was lucky, they might even argue about it. He grinned and felt a swell of pride at his ingenious plan, before letting his smile fall  
as he realized how flawed his plan might be. They would probably argue, Raoul had no doubt of that, but what would happen afterward? Christine claimed to love him, she had given herself to him, so would she settle for living underneath the opera house the rest of her life if it meant she could live with that monster? No. Christine was a creature destined for a life in the sun, and he knew she would not live out her life underground. At least, he hoped. If Erik continued to refuse to leave, Christine might leave herself, and run straight back into Raoul's arms.

Yes, he felt rather confident about his plan now. He felt his smile growing broader as he stepped up onto the stone porch. He could hardly believe Madame Giry could afford such a place, but he guessed that she had a large amount of money saved from her days as the ballet mistress. Raoul observed the home, and realized it was a very wise investment. The building was more beautiful than his own estate, and he could hardly believe Madame Giry had agreed to give it all up to move back to Paris.

He raised a hand to the brass knocker on the door, and gave three sharp knocks. He waited patiently until the door opened with a flourish, and revealed Madame Giry standing before him. She looked as strict as ever, and gave a curt nod before signaling for Raoul to come in. He gave a small smile before stepping into the house, his mouth dropping in awe as he observed the intricate and unique carvings throughout the interior of the house. Madame Giry watched Raoul as he studied the house, clearly in awe. Finally, his mouth closed and he was able to speak.

"It's beautiful," he choked out, having never seen anything as amazing. Madame Giry nodded before turning from him and walking towards the kitchen.

"Yes, Erik designed this house," she called over her shoulder, and smirked as she turned to find Raoul looking at her with an annoyed  
expression.

"Yes, Monsieur, it is the Phantom of the Opera's house that you stand in now. Although, he never visits it as he lives underneath the Opera. But you're already aware of that, I can assume. He recently sent me a message stating that he would need the house for the rest of the year, but he is probably only using it for business purposes, such as working on new designs and whatnot. He only comes up here for a week at the most, but usually it is not even that long. He sold it to me for a fair price, saying that he would still need it at times, but was willing to give it to us if we needed a place to stay. He offered to give it to me for free, but I could never take something so beautiful without purchasing it." Raoul simply nodded, and found himself less fond of the house than he was before.

Trying to change the subject, he signaled to the suitcases sitting by the stairs.

"Are you ready?" Madame Giry merely smiled, before giving a slight nod. Raoul bent to grab the large bags, but completely forgot about the luggage as Meg sprinted down the stairs, two large suitcases in her hands and her hair tied into a messy bun. She ran quickly to her mother as if the bags weighed nothing, and was breathing heavily as she stood next to her, staring from her to Raoul with a giddy smile pasted on her face. She gave an enthusiastic greeting to Raoul before turning to her mother.

"Mother, are we going now? Will we get to see Christine again!" She had a hopeful smile on her face, and was bouncing on her toes as she waited for her mother's response. Her mother chuckled before hugging her daughter, but her daughter's smile fell as Madame Giry turned to Raoul.

"I need to speak with the Vicomte first, ma cherie."She looked ready to object, but simply gave an obedient nod before gliding from the room, heading upstairs to comb her hair. Raoul studied her as she sprinted up the stairs, unable to believe that was Meg Giry, the same little ballet rat he had seen only a month ago. She had somehow, in a way Raoul was unable to fathom, matured into a woman in the space of one month. Her eyes were harder than before, and her body seemed stronger and more rigid, as if she had experienced all the hardships of life. Raoul couldn't help but notice that she was a beautiful girl, with midnight blue eyes and flowing flaxen tresses that Raoul guessed fell to her mid-back when her hair was down. She had a small innocent mouth, and gracefully high cheekbones that made her seem always cheery. She was still a child at heart, Raoul could tell, and found himself admiring her ability to retain her youth. She had a gorgeous dancer's body, and Raoul found himself still thinking about her as Madame Giry's voice rang through his thoughts.

"Monsieur?" He turned, startled, to the strict woman standing at the threshold to the foyer. She was leaning against the framing, one eyebrow arched and her mouth set in a thin line.

"Monsieur, if you are finished scrutinizing my daughter, may we precede into the main foyer? There are some things I would like to discuss." He simply nodded, the blood rushing to his cheeks as he pushed the image of Meg from his mind. He followed Madame Giry into the foyer, and seated himself directly across from her in a large deep red armchair, while she sat on the matching sofa placed across from him. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of Meg scurrying about upstairs, clearly impatient and ready to leave. Raoul chuckled quietly to himself as he heard a loud bump, and the sound of Meg's tiny curse. Finally Madame Giry broke the uncomfortable silence. "I'm guessing Christine is still well?" Raoul's head snapped to her, and his eyes burned into hers. She didn't flinch. He tried to put a defiant look on his face, but he collapsed under Madame Giry's piercing gaze.

"Yes, she's fine," he whispered. He turned away from Madame Giry's confused face and stared out the window at the elegant landscape laid out beyond the glass. Madame Giry was silent for a moment more, before continuing.

"Is she still with Erik? How is he treating her?" Raoul's abrupt answer made her jump in shock. Her mouth fell open as Raoul leapt from his chair and began to tell about Christine and Erik's 'pleasurable' time together. Madame Giry gulped as Raoul once again collapsed in a chair, burying his head in her hands. She couldn't believe it! Christine and Erik had. . .lain together? And Christine had done it willingly? And she had _told _Raoul? Well, this was certainly a turn of events.

There would be plenty of time to think about things on the ride back to Paris, she decided, and called upstairs for Meg to come down. Meg bounded into the room five seconds later, out of breath and hopping up and down impatiently with her suitcases once more in her tiny grasp. Not wanting to upset Raoul any further, she easily changed the subject to who would be responsible for bringing out her bags. Raoul, being the gentlemen, instantly forgot his outburst and offered to get them. Madame Giry smiled at him but simply shook her head, and carried two of them while ordering one of the servants to take the other out to the carriage.

Meg raced out to the carriage, and ignoring the driver walked over to open the door for her and lunging into the seat. She set the suitcases at her feet, and began to fiddle with her fingers while she waited for Madame Giry and Raoul to reach the carriage. Raoul certainly seems older, Meg thought as she studied the way he held himself, and noticed his hair was messy as if his hands had been running through it a lot in the past, and there were small lines at the corners of his eyes. She felt her heart ache for the poor man. He must be really aching over Christine, Meg decided, but pushed all thought of him from her mind as she imagined herself going down to the Phantom's lair and rescuing her from that monster. _Oh, how Christine would praise me!_ Madame Giry and Raoul piled into the carriage after the driver heaped their luggage in the back and climbed into the front.

As the carriage pulled from the drive, Meg looked back at her home, and realized that magnificent home was nothing compared to the joy she would feel at being back in her real home, the Opera Populaire.  
** XXXXXXX**

**k i have to explain a few things. first of all, u remember the last chapter where it said that erik went into the post office and sent a letter to the ouskirts of PARIS? yeah, that was a mistake of mine, and it should have been that he sent a letter to ROME. he was sending a letter to tell madame giry he wanted to share the house for a little while, becuz he knew christine wanted to live somewhere other than that dark lair thing. get it now? any questions, ask em in a review. please please please review! I LOVE YOU GUYS!**


	14. A Normal Man, A Normal Life

**A/N: "Confessions" is undergoing a serious rewriting. Forgive the confusion if there is any screwups in the plot, just give me time. I wasn't pleased with the way it was going, so it made it impossible for me to continue writing when it was so bad. Please forgive the inconvenience and keep giving awesome reviews! **

**For all you fluff-lovers, this should please you. Nice little sweet ending, too. For all you angst wanters, well,..just wait a few more chapters, its comin i promise. It's more of a filler, but don't hold it against me since I haven't had any fillers yet! It's a little too happy-go lucky for me, but oh well, I wanted to give the couple a little moment of happiness before Raoul starts his idiotic plan. Oh, and by the way, I made a slliighhht change to Christine's character...from now on, her eyes are blue. I don't know why I didn't do it to begin with, but I like her with blue eyes better. Her hair is still brown.** **Oh and another thing, at one point in this chapter, he tells Christine to meet him at the Café Louis-Philippe, and I didn't actually make that up, there actually IS a café by that name in Paris, so I decided to use it. Anyhow, thanks for all the new reviewers I've gotten, I really love to read them. Thanks yall guys (wow, im country), i really appreciate the support. **

**14. A Normal Man, A Normal Life**

That morning, Christine was granted the pleasure of waking up in Erik's arms. She sighed in contentment as she finally came out of unconsciousness, and felt Erik's warm body beneath her, relaxed and at ease. She gave a soft smile as she realized he was still asleep, which was a surprise since he almost always woke before the opera even began moving about, and that was only when he slept at all. His chest moved up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, his arms wrapped protectively around Christine's naked waist.

She studied his face, and felt tears well up in her eyes as she realized that this was the first time, that Christine knew of anyhow, that Erik looked completely peaceful. There was even a small smile playing across his lips. His head fell to the right, blocking out every bit of disfiguration that tainted his flawless features. He looked like, Christine thought with amusement, a real angel. Gone were the lines of stress that so often littered the corners of his eyes and brow, and in their place was nothing but a gentle, almost child-like innocence that seemed to radiate off of him. Christine continued to study him, forever etchinginto her memory the feel of peace and contentment in the way he breathed, the way his mouth opened slightly with each exhalation. Christine pulled herself up towards his face, and lightly kissed his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth; every piece of skin Christine had access to was sprinkled with light, feathery kisses. She gave another sigh before relaxing against his chest, feeling as if she were in heaven. This was the man she was destined to be with, as much as she felt she didn't deserve him. Would he have even noticed her if he had been born completely flawless, thoroughly barren of any disfigurement? Or would he go off and become rich off his music, and marry the most beautiful woman in all of France? Christine felt a pain in her heart as she realized how easily her angel could be taken away from her, if ever his genius were acknowledged.

Christine gasped as salty tears started to trek their way down her cheeks, and she hastily swept them away before they touched Erik's chest. She didn't want him to think she was upset, because God knows she wasn't. Too late. She felt Erik shift beneath her, and she felt his eyes studying her as she tried to lie still. She could feel the questions coming on, so she sat up to stare into his emerald eyes. His eyes were still partly glazed from sleep, and he gave a light groan as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. Christine felt a giggle rising within her, and she had to stifle the laugh to save herself from Erik's anger. He just seemed so,. . .real! An ordinary man, with an ordinary home, with his ordinary wife. Except. . .she wasn't his wife. She frowned as this realization struck her like a brick in the face. But her frown was quickly replaced by a blush as she felt Erik's hand running slowly up her back in a teasingly pleasurable pattern, pressing down lightly hereor there, soft as an angel's kiss .

Suddenly she felt very self-concious at her current state, which was dressed in a simple creme nightgown, despite the fact that she had just shared a bed with him in the same state. Erik seemed to sense her unease, and stopped his seductive fondling.

"Christine, is something wrong?" His voice was different. There was no anger hidden behind it, no tinge of distrust, not even a hint of apprehension which usually coated every word he spoke. It was just the way Erik had always spoken, Christine had never questioned it. But now, there was nothing in his voice but warm, caring tenderness. She silently cursed herself for making him worry. She shook her head, trying to make him believe she was fine.

"No, Erik, it's just. . ." She looked away, not sure how to word it. She wanted to be Erik's wife, she knew that much, but she didn't want to take away her chances of getting to be his by frightening him away with her declarations of longing for it. She sighed, realizing she would have to wait. It would be worth it end the end, she decided. She turned back to him, briefly stunned when she noticed he had replaced his mask. She hadn't even felt him stir! Erik was the one man who never ceased to amaze her. Oh, how she wanted to marry this man, what she wouldn't give to be able to go into town, her arm locked with his, and perhaps even holding a baby in her other arm. They could have a family! But now was not the time for discussion about their futures, she had determined that, so instead she let an authentic yet slightly sad smile light up her features.

"Erik, would you like some breakfast?" Erik looked at her in confusion, eyebrow slightly quirked, and his green eyes bore into hers as if trying to discover her true motives. Her smile fell.

"Erik, I'm not good at many things, but cooking is one thing I can do. Just allow me to make you breakfast, you need to eat." There was a slight playfulness in her voice, and she poked him lightly in the rib as if to prove her point. He gave a soft smile, and Christine felt her body go limp under the mere beauty of such a simple action. Erik sensed this as well, and smiled at the way she shivered as he once again began to draw a line from the bottom of her back to the space between her shoulder blades, taking extra care to tease every inch of skin.

Christine's breath caught as she leaned in to kiss him, but he surprisingly raised a finger to her lips to stop her.

"Breakfast would be wonderful," he said, a slight smirk pasted across his perfect lips. Christine slapped his shoulder lightly in fake annoyance before letting out a girlish giggle, the likes of which she hadn't heard come out of her mouth in over five months. She climbed out of thebed, and walked over to her bureau and fished through it for something to wear. She was aware of Erik's eyes upon her barely-clothed form, but she decided it would be more torture to him to ignore his gaze than to return it with her own hungry eyes. Smirking, she grabbed a white chemise, corset, and deep-green evening dress, and went to the bathroom to change, never once looking back at Erik.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, and smiled broadly at the bright-eyed, glowing-faced girl staring back at her. She slipped into her chemise and tied her corset, having difficulty with the top ties but finally managing it after several attempts, not willing to risk what would happen if she asked Erik for help. Blushing, she slipped into her evening dress, and was mildly surprised at the way it fit her perfectly, down to the last seam. It was slightly low-cut at the collar, but not enough to be indecent, with short sleeves trimmed with black lace. The bottom of the bodice was lined with small crystal beads, making Christine's eyes sparkle when the light shone on them.

She ran a hand over the silk overskirts, admiring the deep green tones of the beautiful dress. The dress seemed to bring out her best features, making her hair seem a deeper brown and making her ocean-blue eyes swirl with bits of green. Her ivory skin looked as smooth and delicate as porcelain; her appearance so flawless she seemed almost breakable, as if someone so beautiful could not be real. Her pink lips were fuller than they had been, and her hips and breasts seemed more filled out than she remembered. When had this happened? Christine asked herself. Had she really not noticed how much she had changed? Or maybe this dress was just another one of Erik's magic tricks. She wouldn't doubt it; that man was truly a work of God.

She heard shuffling from the other side of the room, and determined that Erik had finally decided to get out of bed. With a glowing smile adorning her features, she emerged from the bathroom, and saw Erik standing by the bed, wearingthe same clothes from the night before: his ruffled white cotton shirt, open at the chest, and lounging trousers that Christine was really starting to adore. He was stooped over retrieving his cloak from the floor, and Christine had to fight the urge to just stand there and watch him.

She let her eyes trail over him, before gliding over to her bureau to retrieve one of the white ribbons laying on its surface. She picked up the brush, and began running it through her curls until she noticed the shuffling had stopped. She paused, turning around to see what had disturbed Erik. He was looking at her in awe, as if it was the first time he had ever seen her. Christine shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze, not sure what she was expected to say. Finally, he closed his mouth and another small smile went across it. Christine almost fainted.

"You're. . .beautiful, Christine," he choked out, the love and admiration nearly pouring from his eyes. Christine smiled wistfully at him, still unable to take away the thought that even though Erik had given her his heart, had showered her with soothing words of love and protection, he still was not hers, and she was not his. They were not each others'. She turned from him so he wouldn't see the yearning playing across her face, and once again began to brush out her wild mane of curls.

Trying to change the subject, she took on a light air of easiness as she inquired about breakfast.

"So, what would you like to eat for breakfast, Erik?" There was silence as he walked over to stand behind her and gently pried the brush from her fingers. He began brushing out the knots and tangles, as gently and carefully as possible. Christine closed her eyes while he brushed, sighing as his fingers accidentally brushed against her exposed neck. When he was finished, he took the ribbon from her other hand and swept her brown locks into a loose ribbon at the nape of her neck. He leaned over her neck, rubbing his hands down her shoulders and down to her forearms.

Christine gave a quiet moan, and Erik grinned against her neck as he placed a chaste kiss to the delicate flesh. Oh, how he relished this new freedom. Never had he acted so. . .sinfully! He reluctantly backed away and let her racing heart slow down, and when she seemed relaxed, he answered her.

"Well at the moment my dear, I don't believe I have anything for you to cook." Christine frowned, she obviously was very intent on cooking that morning.

"Well, I can go into town to buy some things to cook, if you would like." Erik shook his head, walking towards the corner of the room to pick up Christine's robe. He smiled secretly as memories of his own hands removing the robe from her shoulders flooded through his mind, but he forced himself to focus on the matters at hand.

"You can't go out Christine, the Vicomte will find you." Christine narrowed her eyes and let her brow furrow in anger. How dare he tell her what to do!

"I'm not a child!" She fought the urge to stomp her foot in anger, which would completely prove her accusation false.

"And plus," she began again, her voice coated with anger, "Raoul's given up. You heard what he said as well as I." Erik shook his head and smiled pitifully, as if he knew something she didn't. This was really aggravating.

"Come, Christine, do not be so simple-minded. He is a head-strong boy, he would not give up that easy." Christine was fuming now. How dare he talk like that? Simple-minded? What did he know?

"Erik! How dare you insult me! You're more stubborn than I will ever be, or Raoul for that matter! I only wish to go out and buy food for breakfast, no one will recognize me if I keep to myself. Besides, who would be out this early anyway? You can't keep me locked up here forever, you know." This seemed to strike a chord in Erik's heart. Not that she had insulted him, but that she couldn't stay there forever. Angels didn't belong in Hell's dungeons. He then decided: that day, he would let Christine go out into town, while he took a visit to the bank where he kept all the money he had earned over the years. He would send a letter to the servants and Madame Giry, ordering for the house to be prepared for him and his 'wife', and then he would tell Christine that afternoon that they were going to be moving to Rome.

He knew she would love it; the skies so clear year-round and the lush grass and oceans the same as her homeland. It was where an angel belonged. He nodded, more to himself than her, before turning to face Christine.

"You're right, my love, you can go out into town. I have business to attend to anyhow." Christine's face lit up as he took her arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow, before leading her towards the back entrance of his home. She seemed surprised that this entrance was here, and started complaining about the fact that she could have gone out this entrance when he had ordered her to leave, and instead had ruined her perfectly good wedding dress by going through the gate. Her steps faltered as she said these words, realizing she had slipped up in her attempt to forego mentioning marriage.

Erik ignored it however, deciding to have a little fun teasing Christine. They walked on in silence, no sounds in the narrow passage besides the sound of their own footsteps. The passage seemed to grow darker as they walked on, and Christine squeezed the sleeve of Erik's shirt as they entered into complete darkness. Her childish fear of the dark was rising in her chest, making her stomach clench and her breathe shorten as she walked closer to Erik.

"Erik, are you sure this is the right way?" She asked, completely terrified. He gave a light scoff, before stopping in the passage to bring Christine underneath his cloak and place his arm around her trembling shoulders. She seemed to calm a bit, and he continued walking.

"My dear, I am the great 'Phantom of the Opera', do you not recall? Of course I know where I am going." And sure enough, five minutes later, Erik pressed a lever in the side of the wall, which swung open to reveal civilization. They stepped out into the haziness of early morning in Paris, and Christine was surprised that she had to squint in the dim light.

"Erik, why can't I see, when it's not even midday yet? Surely the sun isn't strong yet?" She felt once more like an inquisitive child, and looked up to Erik as if he were her mentor. In a way, he had been.

"Your eyes are used to the darkness. It's quite natural for your eyes to take some time to adjust. Relax, it will fade in a moment." And gradually, Paris started to come into focus, and she could clearly see that they were right in the middle of the town square, standing in an alley fairly populated with street vendors and early morning shoppers.

Christine whirled around in shock to find an old abandoned warehouse, devoid of any signs of the passage that they had just exited through. She turned to Erik, expecting an explanation. He smiled down at her. Christine had a feeling she'd never get tired of those smiles, but it depressed her to think that he only smiled for her.

"That passage led all the way from the Opera house to this building, it was a passage that took some time to build, but I found it necessary so I could go about my shopping without as many people seeing me. See, look," And with one finger, he traced a very thin line on the wall that would never be found except by those who knew where it was.

Christine was once again in awe of his genius. Looking up at him with a smile on her face, she planted a small kiss on his lips before taking his hand and leading him towards the vendors. He walked with her until she reached a shop selling meats and dairy, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek before telling her he would be in the business district for about three hours, and that he would meet her at the 'Café Louis-Philippe' when he was done. She nodded in agreement, then went to shopping. Erik handed her a handful of francs before walking off towards the business district.

XxXxXx

Erik walked into the dimly-lit bank, frowning in disgust at the repulsive smell of mildew and soap. He wasn't sure why the room smelled like it did, but since the question would be slightly awkward to ask, he decided to let it go. He walked up to the wooden desk, and waited for the haughty receptionist to quit pretending he wasn't there. It was a game of hers, to show her utter dislike for his presence.

He had never done anything to irk her, he was sure of that, besides possibly being a little too reclusive when she had tried to start a conversation. He wasn't the talkative type, it wasn't his fault. Besides, it had been almost two years since he had even been to this place; why couldn't she just get over it?

He tapped his knuckles against the desk impatiently, letting out a little sigh every time he saw her brow furrow in aggravation behind the heavy novel she was attempting to immerse herself in. Deciding she wasn't giving up anytime soon, he cut to the chase.

"I have come to make a withdrawal from my account. I would say I need about. . . 400 francs." Finally, her fingers collapsed against the pages, and she looked up at him with stony eyes, her eyes glued to his mask.

"Yes, sir, and what is your account number?"

He told her, and she slowly retrieved his key from the back. He thanked her politely, which she responded to by muttering rude phrases and shuffling back to her seat.

He walked to his box, and after inserting the key, withdrew four elastic-tied stacks of francs from the enormous pile filling his box. Stuffing it in his cloak, he walked towards the door. Having a second thought, he turned back towards the grumpy woman sitting at the desk.

"You know, you really shouldn't be so negative all the time. It's very unattractive." Savoring the shocked look on the woman's face, he left the bank, and walked a ways towards the post office. After purchasing a stamp and envelope, he stuffed the francs inside, attaching a note that informed all the servants that they were once again under his management, and that they were ordered to prepare the house for him and Christine. They would be up in a week's time, and they were to be given fifty francs extra if their efforts were sufficient. Satisfied that he had accomplished something, he walked down the street, but stopped mid-stride when he spotted Christine. She was inside a bridal store directly to his left, and Erik found himself extremely curious as to what she was doing. Slipping inside the store, he hid in a dingy corner and watched Christine.

XxXxXx

Satisfied she had purchased enough food for a sufficient breakfast, she began to walk the square. She still had at least twenty francs left, perhaps she could purchase something for Erik. She was thinking about going into Dubois's to purchase him a new cloak, until her eye came in contact with the beautiful bridal gown in the window of Mureau's Bridal Shop. The familiar longing once again welling within her, she couldn't fight the urge to slip inside and look around. What would it hurt?

She opened the door, and jumped as the bell chimed above her head. _Mon Dieu, what am I so frightened of?_

She walked over to a corner of the store, and gave a small smile as she brushed her hand over the smooth silks and cotton fabrics of the wedding dresses. Some were beautiful, some absolutely atrocious, but all of them had the same effect on Christine: reminding her that she was not, and possibly would never be, married to Erik. What if he didn't want a wife? Wouldn't he have suggested it before then if he did?

Well, of course he had suggested it three months before, right after Don Juan, while thrusting the wedding dress in her hands, but that was while he was in a blind rage. Now, things were different.

She sighed, and raising her head from the fabric, her eye caught something swiftly moving into the corner, and Christine strained her eyes to see what the thing was. Perhaps she was being followed! Christine felt a fear well within her throat, but shook her head as if to rid the thought from her head. She was being foolish. Summoning her courage, she began to walk slowly towards the corner, all the while straining to see in the dimly lit room. It suddenly hit her that she was the only customer. Why wasn't anyone there? Would anyone hear her if she screamed?

She was close now. She could see a shape shuffling about in the corner. She reached her hand through the darkness.. .she was almost there. . .and touched-. . .the wall. There was nothing there. Christine stood there, with her arm stretched into the shadows, for a good ten seconds, panic making its way back into her chest. What if the person had snuck behind her? Yes! She could hear footsteps behind her, loud, clicking shoes that echoed when they stepped on the wood floor. Preparing for a gun to be pressed into her back or a rope to be wrapped around her neck, shesqueezed her eyes shut and waited for the killer. It never crossed her mind how absolutely preposterous it was for a murderer to be lurking around, waiting for his victim in a bridal shop.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped two feet into the air. Whirling around to face 'the murderer', she found herself face to face with a short, plump, grey haired woman with large glasses that magnified her eyes, making them seem five times bigger than they actually were. She was looking at Christine like she was a bit off her rocker, and Christine couldn't really blame her. She studied the woman as she caught her breath, and noticed with amusement that the woman dressed impeccably horrendous, yet had the air of someone who thought otherwise.

Christine wondered if this was what Carlotta would look like at age sixty. She had about ten rows of different sizes of gaudy beads handing around her neck, looking like they might strangle her if she made any sudden movements. She wore a bright green, elaborate dress that looked like it had been ripped straight off of a production poster for a traveling circus. Christine struggled to keep the smile off her face, and gave a small curtsy to the stout woman.

The woman continued to stare, as if Christine were some kind of specimen in a science lab. Finally, the strange woman broke the silence.

"Do you need help finding anything, deary? Do you need to purchase a wedding gown?" Christine shook her head in anguish, wishing she could give a different answer.

"I don't think. . .It's just. . I don't really know if he's ready to marry yet. . .I wish he was, but I don't want to ask if he's not. It's awkward." The woman nodded in kind understanding while the shadow in the corner stood, watching with increasing amusement as his love fumbled over words, trying to say that she wanted to marry him. This was by far the most fun he had had in eavesdropping in a long while.

Finally, he decided to break the silence. Slipping from the shadows, he gracefully slid next to Christine, nearly scaring the wit's out of her. Seeing him standing there, her face paled, before turning hastily turning a deep pink. Erik threaded his arm through hers, staring down at her with a smooth smile gracing his lips. She looked utterly ready to puke.

"Oh, Erik, I had no idea you would be here. Why did you-. . .Why would you? How could you eavesdrop like that? What did you hear? Oh God Erik, this isn't how I wanted you to find out-. . ."

"We will be back tomorrow to pick out Christine's wedding dress and ring." Erik eyes were trained seriously on the short woman in front of them, purposely ignoring Christine's astonished gasp, and noticed them woman was gawking at Erik like he had materialized out of thin air. Which, in a way, he did.

Christine looked at Erik in shock, but then a wide smile broke out over her face and she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Erik, do you mean it? Or are you just doing this to make me stop moping about?"

He looked down at her, and she noticed his face had taken on a seriousness she wasn't expecting. Fearing the worst, Christine's face paled and she backed away from his side. "Oh, if you don't want to marry me, then you don't have to. I just figured since, well, never mind, we can go back now if you want. . ."

And then he got on his knees, and pulled out the engagement ring from behind his back.

**XxXxXx AHHHH the fluffiness! Lol**


	15. The Proposal

**A/N: Mmmmk, First of all, I need to totally thank my beta, Emilie for everything! She totally gave me this idea to make this story oooohhh so awesome! So, thanks so much for being awesome, and thank you to everyone else who reviewed! It means SO much! First off,**

_MyDarkAngelErik- well, I'm happy that you AND Erik enjoy it::gasp: u gave up cookies? Wow, I could NEVER do that!_

_Free2bfroody- Yes! I made someone do the girly scream::dances: well, you're very welcome! Lol_

_Twinkle22- Thank you so much, you by far have some of the most encouraging words and I thank you for sticking with my story since chapter one!_

_Jamea- Hey, I think my mom has that same piece of scenery you mentioned in our bedroom! Freaky...lol _

_thank you to everyone else! And now, please enjoy, Chapter 15!_

**Chapter 15:The Proposal **

Erik had been planning to ask her since the day before, and for a long while, he had been completely terrified of what her answer would be. Sure, she was passionate enough with him, but for all he knew, she might be afraid of commitment. Why not? After all, he was, too. Although, he had to admit, he had been more afraid of having to risk Christine breaking his heart again than commitment itself. But now, seeing Christine's expression, he was no longer apprehensive in the least.

He held the ring out before him, the same ring Raoul had given her, and struggled to keep a composed facade. He knew Christine could sense his nervousness, and he only hoped it wouldn't make Christine doubt his desire to marry her. As his hands trembled and he struggled to calm his breathing, Christine's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise. She knew what was coming, and Erik only hoped he could make it through this without falter. He closed his eyes and took one last steadying breath, before opening his eyes and locking them on Christine's. There were tears of happiness already welling up in her eyes, and Erik felt all uneasiness seep from his body. Finally, feeling assured, he worked up the courage to ask what he had planned to from the very start.

"Christine, will you marry me?" The tension in the room was suffocating as Erik waited for Christine's response, and he completely forgot about the little old shopkeeper who was watching the whole affair silently with pure enjoyment. Christine closed her eyes and the tears fell down her cheeks, and for a moment Erik was sure she would reject him. He clenched his jaw to fight the urge to beg and plead with her, and forced himself to remain silent. Then, Christine started to laugh. It was the purest, most beautiful sound Erik had ever heard, and he closed his eyes in sheer bliss.

The next thing he knew, Christine's arms were around his neck, the edges of her shopping bags brushing his ear, and she was burying her curly head in Erik's shoulder. Caught completely off-guard, he asked stubbornly, "So, does that mean yes?" Christine laughed again, and Erik wondered if it were possible for a person to die of joy. Christine gave an enthusiastic "yes!", before burying her head in Erik's shoulder once more.

Erik wrapped his arms around her torso, basking in the warmth of both Christine's answer and her body. Feeling the tears come to his own eyes, he pressed his forehead to hers, gazing into her glistening eyes as if trying to discover if her answer had been true. Seeing only pure rapture in those ocean-blue eyes, he pressed a kiss to her lips, her hair, her cheeks, until Christine playfully pushed his face away.

"Erik, if you keep that up, you'll be too exhausted to help plan the wedding!" Erik couldn't help but laugh himself, and he could hardly remember a time when he had done so out of joy. Usually, he only laughed out of pure murderous delight, or perhaps scornful laughter. But now, he felt nothing but bliss. Sheer, unadulterated bliss. Sighing in contentment, he dragged himself and Christine up from the floor, never once breaking their embrace. He pulled back only enough to lightly take her left hand. He looked into her eyes for consent, and, satisfied that this was what she wanted, he slipped the ring onto her ring finger.

She gazed at it in captivated delighted, running her thumb over the gold band and the solitary glittering stone. Her blue eyes glimmered and her lips curled into a delicate smile as her mind drifted into some private daydream. Erik didn't dare interrupt her own intimate musings, as he was having his own as he studied her, noticing the way her skin seemed more radiant than it had been moments before, and the way her fingers trembled as they continued to fondle the precious band.

Sucking in a trembling breath, she finally broke out of her reverie and turned to look at the old shopkeeper, who was still watching them as she would watch a romantic opera. Seeing that she had been caught observing, she averted her gaze and gave a feeble attempt to appear to have been straightening the wedding rings in their silk cases. Christine seemed unable to stop smiling. Walking up to the counter, she addressed the woman. "Madame, I would appreciate it if you did not speak of your seeing us here today, for I am rather. . .known, I guess I should say, in Paris, and I would not like it to get out that I am going to be married. I want it to be a small, intimate wedding."

As she said this, she walked back over to Erik and intertwined her fingers with his. The old woman looked confused for a moment, and Christine and Erik both realized they had nothing to worry about anyway, since the old woman probably never even left her shop, so how would she know about the happenings at an Opera House? She hardly seemed to notice Erik had a mask! After the old woman gave a slight nod, Christine looked back up at Erik who looked down at her with adoration, and she leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Let's go," she whispered.

Erik nodded, giving her hand a light squeeze before walking towards the door. He was trying to keep the goofy grin from his face as he pushed the door open, as it reminded him too much of the Vicomte's own expression._ So this is how he felt when Christine accepted his engagement_, he thought with a grimace. No, no negative thoughts. _Today, and forever after, Christine will be mine. _He looked down at his fiancé, who was no longer smiling, but seemed to be in deep thought. Erik started to question her, but stopped as she leaned into him as they walked. Realizing she was probably already stressing about the wedding, he decided to ease the mood.

"Let's go to that café I told you about, Café Louis-Philippe. Would you like that?"

Christine continued to stare ahead, and Erik saw her murmuring things under her breath as if having a conversation with herself. With slight amusement, he repeated his question, finally snapping her from her silent contemplation. She looked up at him in confusion, her mouth slightly open, before nodding in consent. Erik smiled down at her, before leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. "Relax, my Angel," he whispered into her ear, lightly touching his lips to the flesh as he spoke. Christine shivered slightly under the warmth of his breath, and this small intimate touch seemed to convince her to stop stressing.

As they continued walking, Erik kept to the shadows, and Christine found herself growing irritated with his foolish insecurities. Grasping his hand in hers, she pulled him to her side as they approached the café. He seemed mildly stunned at her aggressiveness, but quickly covered his surprise with a childish glare. He tore his hand from Christine's and folded his hands across his chest. He quirked his eyebrow at Christine, as if daring her to do it again. She gave an exasperated cry, before stepping into the café without him after quickly spitting, "You childish man! Won't you ever overcome your insecurities?" At first, Erik had been a little hurt, and stayed outside the café for a moment as if proving he was not the type to come crawling back after being insulted. He soon started to feel very lonely, which was a great surprise to him, since for most of his life, he had strived for a life of solitude.

But now, he was greatly aching for his fiancé after not even five minutes without her, and, groaning in defeat, he climbed the steps and entered into the dimly lit café to find Christine.

**XxXxXxXx**

As their carriage pulled to a stop in front of their former home, Meg was surprised to find how little of the Opera House appeared changed. There was no evidence of the fire that had taken place months before, except for the blackened walls and shattered windows of the higher stories of the Opera House.

Meg had been silent through the whole trip, both anxious about seeing her home again, as well as curious as to why the two adults accompanying her were behaving so strangely.

Meg knew her mother held a slight dislike of the Vicomte, even though Meg found him rather handsome, but she thought she would at least have tried to strike up a conversation with him. Or, at least, that the Vicomte would talk to her. He was usually such a cheery man, always a charmer and never at a loss for words. That was one of the things that attracted Meg to him. _And Christine, too, no doubt_. Meg blushed as she remembered that this was her best friend's fiancé, and he harbored no interest in her anyway.

Raoul seemed unusually nervous through the whole of their journey, constantly checking out the windows, looking down at his pocket watch, or simply wringing the fabric of his dress coat with his hands. Meg studied him curiously as he sat across from her, as she pretended to be inspecting the interior of the carriage, and at one point, Raoul's eyes locked on hers, and she immediately dropped her eyes as a blush came to her cheeks. _What could be wrong with him? Is he that anxious to find Christine? _

Meg continued to ponder until they reached their stop, when Meg giddily reached across her mother's lap to open the carriage door. She leapt out, landing gracefully on the stone sidewalk thanks to years in the ballet chorus. She held the door open for her mother and the Vicomte, and when they were out, she reached back inside to retrieve her bags, before slamming the door shut. The Vicomte gave the driver instructions to return to his estate after retrieving Madame Giry's bags from the back, before turning to the ladies. Meg's mother studied him as he led them up the steps, and watched with a raised eyebrow as he fished in his pocket for the key. "Where are the managers? Surely they would be here?" She raised a hand to shield the sun from her view, and swept her eyes over the abandoned property. "I do not see their carriage, Monsieur."

Raoul seemed to be expecting this, for he quickly stated, "Oh, yes, well, they did not wish to stay here while the 'Opera Ghost' is still not found. They're terribly frightened of him, you know." Madame Giry nodded. She sensed that Raoul's story was a lie, but was in no mood to tell him so. Deciding to go along with it, she changed the subject. "So, they have received no word from Erik?" Raoul looked at her in confusion for a moment, before realizing who she was speaking of. "Oh, you mean that demon. No, there is. . there is still no sign of him." Raoul's mind briefly flashed to the police, and then to his brother. _What would he be doing, then? Was he worried about him? Or had he simply given up and decided he had died? Were they even trying to find him?_

"Monsieur?" Madame Giry's curt tone cut through his thoughts. "Yes, Madame? Oh, right." He blushed as he realized he had been standing there, motionless, while the Girys awaited to be admitted. Finally, he found the key, and thrust it into the large knob of the double doors. The key wouldn't turn. He blushed a deeper pink as he realized the door was unlocked, and he nonchalantly removed the key from the door and pushed it open. He glanced towards the Girys to find Meg observing him with curiosity, and a small bit of amusement. Raoul avoided her gaze, and kept his eyes downward.

He led them into the entryway of the Opera, and removed his jacket to place it on the hook beside the door. He turned to the Girys, who were observing their home with shock. He couldn't blame them for their surprise, the opera house was a disaster. The wallpaper on the walls was black and peeling, and a thick layer of dust coated everything. Meg noticed with disgust that the dust was disturbed by tiny paw prints that could only belong to that of a rat. Or several, for that matter. Meg shut her eyes against the sight, and turned to her mother.

"_Maman_, can we go to our room now?" Madame Giry had been observing everything with slitted eyes, a frown set upon her face. She turned towards her daughter after casting a suspicious glance towards the Vicomte, and nodded in agreement. "Yes, _ma cherie_, let us return to our dormitories." Meg rushed up the creaking stairs with her suitcases, careful to step around the collapsed step. As she disappeared at the top of the stairs, Madame Giry turned to Raoul with a hateful gleam in her eyes.

"Monsieur, I believe you told us the Opera House was under reconstruction. And yet," She gestured around her as she spoke. "I can see no signs that any reconstruction has taken place at all." Once again, Raoul had been expecting this. He started to speak, but Madame Giry stopped him with a raised hand. "Monsieur, spare me. You are a liar, and a terrible one at that. I will continue to stay, if only for the sake of my daughter, who is happy to be here despite the fact that it is NOT being repaired." And with that, she turned and started up the stairs, leaving a stunned Vicomte behind her.

Fortunately, the ballet dormitories were in better condition than the downstairs portion of the Opera House. The only sign there had been a fire were the cracks in the wall and the slight smell of smoke that hung about the room. Meg sighed in contentment as she fell upon her old bed, unsurprised that she had been able to distinguish her bunk from the other twenty or so beds that were exactly identical to hers. She closed her eyes for a moment, simply relishing in the feeling of being home, until she heard the door swing open and her mother enter. She sat up quickly from the bed, and turned to her mother, who was removing her coat.

"Maman?" She questioned, a slight pleading in her voice as if she were a small child begging to be given a treat. "Can we please go into town? Perhaps to the café? I would really like to see Paris again." Madame Giry looked at her daughter, and gave a small smile. In her mind, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had been frightened that Meg would run down to the cellars as soon as she stepped into the Opera House. "Of course child, put on your coat, and we'll go in a moment."

**XxXxXx**

Erik's eyes instantly adjusted to the loss of light as he stepped into the café, and he was momentarily struck by how beautiful the café was. There was a small jazz group playing light tunes in one corner, and every table was adorned with a white silk tablecloth, and a candelabra set in the middle of the table. He studied the way the ceiling rose to in an elegant arch in the middle of the room, and found himself amazed at the intricate and ornate designs and paintings decorating the plaster ceiling. The floor was made of a deep, rich wood that shined prettily in the light of the candles, and Erik temporarily forgot that he was supposed to be looking for Christine.

However, when his memory returned to him, he instantly spotted her, already seated in a corner of the café, as if she knew that Erik would not want to sit where he could easily be seen. She was studying her menu, her shopping bags on the floor beside her, and Erik noticed she was biting her bottom lip as she read over the various dishes, a habit which Erik had grown to adore. The candlelight made Christine even more alluring, adding an extra shine to her brown curls and making her eyes appear a darker blue. The candles added a deep, golden tone to her skin, making her appear every bit the same as a European goddess. His eyes fell upon the ring on her left hand, and his heart swelled. She would soon be his. His wife.

He walked towards her delicate form, and her eyes shot up to him as he seated himself across from her at the table, the shadows instantly enshrouding him. No one would be able to see him in the café, besides Christine. She shook her head at him, a small smile across her lips. Erik knew that his immature behavior had been forgiven. He picked up his own menu, quickly scanning through the French sweets, foreign coffees, and assorted other treats, and could not find anything he desired. He detested pastries and cakes with a passion. He set the menu to the side, deciding on black coffee, and turned his attention to Christine.

She was still studying her menu, her brows furrowed, but Erik was starting to suspect she wasn't thinking of food at all. Finally, feeling Erik's eyes upon her, she sighed and set down her menu. The waiter quickly came and took their orders, Christine deciding on hot tea, before rushing off to leave them in silence once more. Christine kept her eyes down-cast, as if deciding how to word something important. Finally, she opened her mouth slightly, and turned towards Erik. She was on the verge of speaking, but a wave of fright swept over her, and she closed her mouth again. She reached across the table and took Erik's hand, and Erik let her take it. Erik tried to ignore the warmth of her touch, taking a second to wonder if he would ever be able to be touched by Christine without feeling that same warmth course through him. He hoped to God that he wouldn't.

Finally, Christine turned pleading eyes to Erik, and stared deep into his own emerald eyes as if searching for something. Erik felt strangely exposed, and tried to shift his gaze. But Christine held fast, and Erik wondered if this is what Christine felt when he held her in his own powerful gaze. He never realized how vulnerable it made one feel. How did Christine seem to be so enraptured by it? Finally, Christine's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Erik, you have to go confess. To a priest."

Erik stiffened. His hand grew still underneath Christine's, and he drew it back from her grip as he looked at her in shock. Confess? Confess about what? Surely she didn't expect him to reveal the pains of his past to a preacher, and expect him to instantly be released of his sins? He scoffed, and Christine looked slightly hurt. He didn't let it make him feel guilty. He glared at her, burning his eyes into hers and once more capturing her soul and mind in his powerful gaze.

"Do you think," he seethed, hatred seeping from every word into her own soul, "that I would go to a preacher- in a church, Christine, for one- and confess every sin I've committed, and expect them to understand? Do you know how ludicrous that is, Christine? I'd be surprised if the priest doesn't order for me to be arrested! I know it is a Catholic tradition, but I am certainly not Catholic, and I refuse to become one. So no, I will not."

A fury rose in Christine's eyes, a fury he had never seen there before. "Erik! You must, or I will not be allowed to marry you! Who will marry us unless you have confessed? It is tradition that the spouse must confess all sins so that he can have God's blessings in marriage, otherwise the ceremony might as well be for nothing!" Erik gaze remained stony, and Christine forced her voice to lower. People were giving her strange looks all around the café, and Christine realized that she must look like she was talking to herself. Blushing, she turned back to Erik.

"If you do not confess, then I will not marry you." Erik's eyes widened in surprise. He had not expected that. Surely she wasn't serious! He drew farther back from her, crossing his arms over his chest as he had done outside the café. He studied the woman before him, and noticed she had indeed grown a great deal. He sighed in resignation, burying his head in his hands.

"No, Christine, I refuse to. I hardly believed you would marry me anyhow." Christine looked truly hurt at this, and Erik wished he could take the words back. She rose from her chair, and started to walk out until her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, no," she whispered, and Erik followed her gaze to two people who had just entered.

He felt his heart rate quicken in fear as Madame Giry and little Meg entered the café, and he shrank farther into the shadows so there were no chance that he would be spotted. Christine sank into her chair, turning her head towards the wall and squeezing her eyes shut as her lips began to move in a silent prayer. If they were spotted, everything was lost. Meg would babble on about how delighted she was that Christine was safe, until she noticed the ring glimmering on Christine's finger, and then she would notice the man hidden in the corner.

She dared not look towards Erik, for fear of giving away his presence. She couldn't think, not even to wonder about why Madame Giry and Meg were there in the first place, as her mind was too clouded by fear. After five tense minutes, Christine sneaked a glance around the café, and gave a sigh of relief as she spotted Meg and her mother at a table across the room, Meg seated with her back towards Christine. Looking towards Erik, she saw that he had re-emerged from the shadows, and was still studying her with an angry eye. Sighing, she took his hand. "Can we leave before we're spotted please?" Erik nodded, knowing he had no other choice. Standing from their seats, Erik wrapped his cloak around himself and Christine, after she retrieved her shopping bags, and together they started towards the door.

Just as Christine thought they were safe, the corner of Erik's cloak caught on a chair leg, and he had to spin around to free himself from the chair without toppling over the whole thing. In that one moment, Christine was revealed to Madame Giry, who's mouth fell open in shock. Christine's eyes widened in horror, and she silently pleaded with her eyes for Madame Giry to remain silent. She silently thanked God that Meg had not been seated in Madame Giry's spot.

She glanced towards her daughter, who didn't even appear to be aware of her mother's presence. Her gaze was focused on the street outside, where Parisians were walking gaily down the street, chattering and laughing as they went along with their regular life. Madame Giry continued to look at Christine with a mixture of shock and curiosity, and Christine, not knowing what to do, raised up her left hand and pointed to her ring. Madame Giry's eyes widened even further, and she finally got the message. Nodding slightly, she turned back towards her daughter and started a conversation. Christine felt a wave of relief as Meg began babbling happily, just as she used to. As they left the café, Christine saw the corner of Madame Giry's mouth turn up in a smile and a knowing look come into her eyes.

Once outside the café, Christine gave a laugh of sheer alleviation. They walked on in silence, until they reached an empty alley, where Erik pulled her in after him. Once sure that they were alone, Christine embraced Erik, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. "Wow, I don't think I've ever been that scared to see Madame Giry and Meg before." Erik returned the embrace awkwardly, still not entirely forgiving her for trying to force him to confess. Christine didn't seem to notice his lack of compassion, and simply sighed into his chest and let her eyes flutter closed.

"What are they doing here?" Erik's voice was sharp, as if it were Christine's fault they had almost been caught. "Well, they live here, don't they?" Christine was confused. Why was Erik so on edge? Erik sighed. He had told her this almost three weeks before. "No Christine, they moved. To Rome." Christine drew back from him, and looked at him in confusion. And then, a light seemed to come into her eyes as she remembered. It was a faint memory, it had been two days after Erik had forced her to stay with him. She faintly recalled him telling her he received a letter from the Girys, saying they had moved to Rome. Christine had been too lost in her own world for the words to register. But now, she realized why Erik was so on edge.

Grasping his hand in hers in an attempt to soothe him, she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. "Erik, do you think they are here to try and find me?" Erik shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever the reason, something tells me they're not here on a visit." Christine nodded in agreement. She sensed that as well. Sighing, she looked around her. "Oh! This is the alley that we entered the town through! Can we return home now, and discuss it there?" Erik looked around him in surprise, as if he had just noticed it as well. He needed rest. He nodded wearily, and he allowed Christine to hold his hand as they walked back to the old warehouse.

Christine stopped in front of the building, and leaned in to try to find the door. Erik watched in amusement as she searched for a good ten minutes, completely bewildered at the fact that she couldn't find it. Finally, Erik reached up a lazy hand and pushed firmly on the thin line, which was right in Christine's line of vision. She blushed, before walking into the darkness ahead of Erik. He continued to smirk as he led the way through the darkness, and it was then that he realized he had forgotten entirely about his plan to tell Christine about Rome. He panicked. Should he tell her then, or wait until they got back? Or maybe it would be a better idea to surprise her, perhaps a day before they were supposed to leave. Yes, that seemed like a smart idea. He fought the urge to sigh in relief. One less thing to worry about that night.

As they eventually reached the entrance they had come out through that morning, he collapsed in his chair as soon as he entered the living room. He hardly noticed that Christine hadn't followed him, as he was so weighed down by everything that had happened that day. The proposal, Christine telling him to confess, the Giry's appearance; it was more than he was ready for at that moment.

Finally, Christine entered through the door, and looking up, Erik noticed she held one of his roses.

His eyes widened in surprise as he realized, with slight amusement, that they had had no reason to go out in the first place, as he had bought food the day before. He had completely forgotten about his excursion through the town, as it seemed like so much had happened that it couldn't be only a day after.

She smiled down at him. "Looks like we didn't have to go anywhere. We were almost busted for nothing." Christine's voice was coated with fake anger, and Erik couldn't help but play along. "Why, my dear, please forgive my foolishness. Next time I shall be a little more clever." Christine smiled, but her face became stony as she walked over to him and sat down beside him; half-way in the chair, half-way on Erik's lap. Erik stiffened. As much as he enjoyed the position, he still found it extremely strange having someone so intimate with him. He wondered how long it would take for him to get used to it. Perhaps he never would, and he would always flinch whenever Christine showed any sign of intimacy. It would certainly make their marriage an uncomfortable one. Maybe he shouldn't have-. .

He came out of his thoughts as Christine started speaking, desperation in her voice. "Erik, please. Confess. I'm begging you, as your future wife, please do this for me!" Erik looked down at her in bewilderment. She was still holding on to the notion that he would confess? She really was getting rather stubborn. He sighed and gave a small growl of aggravation. Christine's expression didn't change. She looked at something on the opposite wall, and seemed to be contemplating something for a long while. After a few minutes of deep musing, she turned back to Erik. Erik simply sat in silence as she prepared for the lecture that was inevitably approaching.

"Erik, listen, we can go to a small chapel, one that hardly anyone knows of, and you can confess there. Look, preachers are religious people. Do you honestly think they would turn you over to the police when you are no longer a criminal? Your crimes are in the past, but you must seek redemption from these crimes! The preacher will not fear you, Erik."

Erik looked away, stubbornly ignoring her. He put on a defiant front, but in his mind, he was thinking over her offer. Christine claimed that she wouldn't marry him without his confessions, but how would he confess all his sins? There were too many to name, and far too many for Christine to be present. . .

"If I do this, Christine, will it be necessary for you to be in the room?" Christine let out an exasperated cry.

"Erik! You are about to become my husband! You do not need to hide your past from me! One cannot bind themselves to a person without knowing all there is to know about them! You already know everything of my life," Christine was pleading now. "Now let me know you."

Erik closed his eyes against the pain that he knew was obvious in his eyes. Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, he began to massage his temples with his fingertips. This would be difficult, but he would do it. For Christine. Tomorrow, Christine would know everything about him; what caused him pain, what his weaknesses were, what he had done, who he had killed. . .and there was a big chance that she might walk out on him. But for some reason, he was willing to risk it. He kissed her as he admitted defeat.

"You are one devilish vixen. Fine, you shall get what you want. " Christine beamed. She would finally know the man who had never opened up to her, had hidden all his feelings in his own little shell of solitude. She would finally meet the man behind the mask, her angel.

**XxXxXxXx**

**Review please! **


	16. Confessions of the Heart

**This chapter was extremely difficult for me, as it is kind of like the turning point in the story. Please tell me exactly what you think when you review, because I'm really not sure about this chapter. When Erik is confessing, I used the plot of Susan Kay's story, but I did change a few things. **

**Thank you thank you thank you to each and every one of you who reviewed! I love you all!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, but this plot is mine! Back off! Lol. **

**Chapter 16: Confessions of the Hear**t

Erik sighed as he stood motionless in front of the St. Sulpice church, which had been the only one that Christine knew of that was not populated by people all hours of the day, because of it being located in a small square. Christine had met with the preacher, Father Gustave, and had told him discreetly of their position and of Erik's mask, and he had sworn to secrecy. Christine waited patiently by Erik's side as he fought the battle raging inside his head. Why he had agreed to this, he was still having trouble figuring that part out. He continued to stare up at the imposing building, the bile churning in his stomach and his fingers twitching as they hung by his sides. He studied the building, and couldn't help but notice the grand and complex architecture of the building, complete with two massive rising turrets on either side.

He unconsciously bit his lip, a habit he had never been guilty of, as he looked around the church to see if anyone was witnessing his embarrassing fright of the building. He wasn't sure if the sight of the empty street calmed or infuriated him, for a small part of him wished someone would discover them standing there like fools, and force them away.

But no, this had to be done, or he would never be granted his wish to marry Christine. He fought the urge to stomp his foot childishly at Christine, insisting that it wasn't fair, but that would be incredibly foolish, since Christine was just as stubborn as he was and would refuse to leave. Christine really brought out the worst in him.

Groaning, he adjusted his mask, before taking a haughty step forward away from Christine and towards the church. Oh, no, she would not be granted the pleasure of seeing him frightened. He continued walking gallantly up the steps, his head turned upward and a firm line set across his mouth, and he felt a sudden burst of confidence. If he could just keep up this act, he might be able to get Christine to leave the room while he was confessing! The last thing he wanted was Christine running from him because of his past.

His steps faltered as he heard Christine's muffled laughter behind him. He turned back to look at her in surprise, and found her standing right where she had been, hand covering her mouth, her face slightly pink from the force of her laughter. Her hair had tumbled loose from the red ribbon it had been held in, and her brown locks fell around her face, them too shaking from her laughter. Finally, blue eyes twinkling, she dropped her hand from her mouth, and ceased her laughter. Sighing, she walked up the steps towards him and intertwined his fingers with hers. He had still been in shock from her laughter, but when her fingers went through his, all shock faded into adoration.

He gazed down at her, a smile still painting her features, and he fought the urge to ask her what she had been laughing at. Was she laughing at him? Surely he hadn't done anything worth being laughed at. He had simply been walking toward the church! Or, maybe it was because. . .

Thankfully she answered his silent question for him. "Oh, Erik, the way you walk, you would make a _fine _aristocrat." Oh, so she had been mocking him!

"My dear, I must ask. Is that a compliment, or a taunt? If it is the latter, I assure you I know the quickest way back to my lair from here, and I may just become so irritated that I forget you were here and leave you on the steps." Christine frowned at him, but her smile returned as she saw the corner of his lip turn up in his signature mark of sarcasm. She suddenly realized she had done it; She had calmed Erik's fears, and he might be a little more willing open up to her now. "Do not be sour, Erik, I meant it in a perfectly. . honorable manner."

Erik had to laugh at this. "Oh, is that so? Well then, I guess I shall not forget you, after all." He smiled, but it faded as he realized they had reached the door. Not knowing what to do, he raised his hand to knock, but it fell to his side as a certain idea recurred to him. He turned back to Christine, and she recognized his face of resignation immediately. Whatever it was he had decided, there would be no getting around it. She waited patiently, silently praying he had not changed his mind.

Closing his eyes, he muttered a prayer that Christine would accept his decision without argument. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to find Christine staring at him expectantly. "Christine, I do not want you present while I am confessing. It would hurt you far more than you think it would," She tried to argue, but he raised his voice and she quieted. "My past is not one of pleasure, but I suppose you have figured as much. What you have not been able to comprehend is the depth of that hurt, on my part. My past depleted me of any mercy, civility, or remorse for anything other than myself. It is the only thing that has ever hurt me, at least the only thing you do not know of." Christine bowed her head in shame, knowing that she was the other things that had caused him pain. She had expected this, and sighed as she realized she would have to grant his wish.

"Fine, you childish man, have it your way. But I may die of boredom waiting for you to return, and if I do, your conscience will forever be scarred by the fact that I was killed as a result of your foolish pride." And with that, she turned on her heel and strode away to sit on the steps. There was silence as she sensed Erik standing there a moment more, before she heard the door swing open and Erik's footsteps disappear inside.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

Erik's hands started to sweat as the heavy wooden door closed behind him with a loud thud that echoed throughout the wide, sweeping halls. Erik's mouth fell open in awe as his eyes swept over the glorious chapel. His hands stopped their furious wringing as he was drawn into the perfect majesty and grandeur of the building. The ceiling rose into a magnificent arch, he guessed about 100 feet high, and was decorated with stain glassed depictions of various entities from the Bible. The walls were made of white plaster, and huge, gilded windows lining them let the sunlight from outside spill through onto the tiled floor and mahogany pews.

Erik was completely stunned. He had heard that the church was the second-most popular in Paris, and that it had been built in 1646 by a famous architect, but never had he expected it to be such a beautiful sight. At the altar, dozens of golden candelabra's held white, flaming candles that lit what part of the chapel that the sunlight from the windows did not reach.

What drew Erik's attention the most, however, was the elegant organ that rivaled Erik's own, positioned directly across from where the choir would have practiced. Erik guessed that this must be what made St. Sulpice so popular, as he could only guess what beautiful music leaked from its musical being. For a moment, Erik lost all of his regret for being in a holy building, where he certainly felt he had no right in being at all, while he become more and more enraptured by the building every second. He never even noticed the door creak open behind him, or the small woman that slipped inside and hid in the shadows.

Finally, after several minutes of his silent admiration of the building, his eyes came to rest on the small, frail man, in preacher's robes, sitting at the altar. The man did not seem to notice him, and was crouched in front of a large, stain-glass picture of Christ, and his lips were moving swiftly in silent prayer. Suddenly, the altar seemed miles away from Erik, and he stumbled backwards as his breath caught in his throat. This wasn't right. He did not belong in a house of the holy; he hardly was one who should be blessed by someone as religious as a priest.

He squeezed his eyes shut as his legs started to tremble beneath him, and he reached out a hand to grab the pew. He moaned as visions of Christine ran through his mind, and he collapsed on the bench. Fearing the preacher might have heard him, his eyes flashed open as he searched for the man. He breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the preacher, Father Gustave, Christine had called him, still crouched before the altar. He buried his head in his hands. He couldn't do this. He had committed far too many crimes to be forgiven. He had murdered, stolen, cursed himself as well as God, and Christine expected him to be forgiven? For some reason, Erik felt no hope. He should leave.

He started to rise, but Christine's words flew back to him before he could start walking towards the door. She wanted to marry him. She loved him. She _loved _him. On their way to the chapel, she had told him repeatedly, "Anyone who is worth loving, and you Erik, most definitely are, deserves the love and forgiveness of God." Maybe she was right. With a defiant air, he turned around, and began walking hesitantly towards the altar. But before he could make it two steps, images started to flash through his mind.

_A scream, and an innocent man falls dead at your feet. Blood, oh God, so much blood! _

_Another murder, another innocent. Fathers, sons, rich, poor, dozens upon dozens of innocent people fall dead at your feet. _

_And why? Because they're normal! Because they were granted what you always yearned for: a ordinary life, with an ordinary face! What have you achieved Erik, in murdering those people? The satisfaction of ridding the world of one more innocent person? The joy of seeing a once normal face, mutilated by strangulation and as disfigured as your own? Did not that bring you great joy? And now, you hope to take away the innocence of another, and this time, a woman! Christine is an innocent flower, a beautiful woman whom you do not deserve. She will fear you, Erik. She will learn your secrets and run from you. You will be alone again, and you will kill. _

Hundreds of bodies, covered with blood and frozen fear on their faces, continued to flash in his mind. No! That was years ago, he had changed! A sob choked in his throat, and finally the preacher looked up. Fear. There was fear in his eyes. Erik saw it! But he didn't care. His head was full of voices, screams, cries of help. Yells of children, his own murderous laughter, and that damned lasso cracking the neck of yet another victim. Tears were flowing down his cheeks now, and he could no longer see the preacher trying to mask his fear. He had murdered so many times, he had committed countless acts of heartless murder. And not one of them was guilty of a thing.

Not once since the last time he had killed in Persia did he allow himself to think back on all that had happened. Only then, as he allowed the memories to flood back in, did he realize the full extent of his horrendous crimes. They suffocated him, beat him, made him feel as if he were one of his own victims. He tried to focus on walking to the altar, but it seemed as if he had not moved a step. Then, more memories forced their way in. Morphine, sweet and tempting, flooded through his memories just as the drug had flooded through his veins countless times. And Nadir's son, oh the poor child, who he had also killed. . .

Erik couldn't even allow himself to think of the boy's name as the silent tears became gut-wrenching sobs. They were pitiful sobs, tears that he had been holding back for nearly fifteen years. Finally, he collapsed at the altar, the preacher rising beside him in shock, and buried his face in his trembling knees. He cried for what seemed like an eternity, ignoring the calming words of the priest. Never, in his whole life, had he felt so weak. He had let his defenses down, and now he was paying for it with tears of regret. Oh, the cruelty of the world! The tears shook his tired form and exhausted him as nothing had ever done before. In the darkness, a woman cried with him.

Finally, after several minutes of soaking in his misery and tears, Erik raised his head from his knees. Not even bothering to wipe his face, he turned his head toward the preacher, who was regarding him with a mixture of pity and helplessness. Erik's vision was still partially blocked by a new onslaught of tears threatening to overtake him, but he forced them down so as to focus on his duty. Forcing his voice to not break, he opened his mouth to speak. The preacher waited patiently.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

In the shadows of the church, Christine shed silent tears as she witnessed the strongest man she had ever met let his defenses drop. Never had she seen her angel so vulnerable and weak, and she could only squeeze the pillars on either side of her to force herself to remain unseen. This was torture. She never should have forced Erik to do this! Erik was strong, and if something as small to Christine as confessing your sins made Erik weaken, then she underestimated his desire to forego the event. She was truly an evil woman. In her head, she struggled with her all her might to send a mental apology to Erik, thinking that he might be able to hear it if she tried hard enough. She gave a quiet gasp as he collapsed at the altar, and forced her eyes shut as Erik's body continued to tremble.

She wanted to run to him, hold him in her arms and kiss all his pain away. But she couldn't force herself to move from her spot. She opened her eyes, and watched the preacher for his reaction, but saw only remorse. She had told him that Erik would probably be hard to convince to open up, but never had she been more wrong. Father Gustave, however, was not letting his surprise slip. He watched Erik in silence, every once in a while offering words of comfort. Christine's heart went out to the poor man, and she gave a silent prayer to God that he would bless Erik's soul. Her concentration was forced back on Erik, however, when she heard his strangled voice.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

So he was going to confess? Christine wasn't certain she wanted to hear, but she had to as payment for her forcing Erik there in the first place. If Erik was going to suffer, she was going to suffer with him. Christine remained silent as Erik started his tale, his voice weak and trembling.

"When I was born, my father was already dead and my mother-. . .my mother despised me. I know nothing of either of them, other than what I have told you. My mother gave me a mask for my birthday, before selling me to the gypsies. I became known as a _freak, _and people came from miles around to stare at my hideous face. Do you know how hard it was, to wake up every morning, numb from the cold and laying on a pile of hay like an animal? I was the Devil's Child, and for six years, that was how I lived. Bringing amusement to some and horror to many with my hideous visage. And God would never grant me the freedom of death. Oh, how welcome death would have been! If only I could have fallen asleep on that cold floor and awoken to the bliss of Heaven." The preacher seemed slightly taken aback when Erik said this, as if thinking Erik had never once thought of Heaven. Erik gave a small smirk.

" As surprising as it may be to you, the fact is this: for years, I _believed_. I believed in God, and the bliss of Heaven. I had heard some of the gypsies reading out loud from the Bible, the very few who believed in the spiritual world. And I thought that I may be granted the pleasure of living forever, if only I kept believing. I guess what kept me believing for so long was my music. I loved to sing, and I could compose things in my head out of thin air and remember it forever. Right now, I could recite every word of the first song I ever composed. At the time, I thought this a gift of God. And I thought, as long as I kept this gift, God would be with me."

Christine smiled through her tears. She had never known Erik had believed. But obviously, something horrible had happened to thwart his belief, and she struggled to hear his almost inaudible voice as he continued. The preacher remained silent, seemingly pondering every word Erik said and nodding in understanding. Once again, Christine felt a strong liking for this preacher.

"However, about six years after I joined the fair, I escaped with the help of a young girl. She never told me her name, and never once did she look at my face, but I knew she pitied me. To this day, my opinion of her is clouded. I should thank her for freeing me from that prison, but what did it achieve? It led me onto my demise. I left the girl, once I was freed, after expressing my gratitude. She seemed surprised at this, as if a creature such as myself was incapable of such a thing." Erik chuckled.

"She was the only person who ever pitied me, and yet, she feared me. The cruelty of the world is endless. Anyhow, after the fair, I traveled. I snuck onto steamers and trading ships which took me to nearly every country in the world, and I got to witness first-hand the beauty and splendor of the world's most exotic places. But the place that appealed to me most was Persia. I eventually took up residence there, serving under the shah. Soon after, I abandoned my belief in God. I admired the shah, for he exuded such a sense of power and control, that of which I envied and wished to possess myself. I stole objects of great value from him, as well as his mother, and for years, went unnoticed. But that isn't the only thing of importance that happened there.

"The khanum was rather fond of me, and hired me as her professional magician. Seems entertaining, no? It was horrid. She ordered me to kill; kill anyone whom she desired to be killed. Some of them not even guilty of anything! But I obliged. I was a heartless, cruel creature, destined for Hell whether I believed or not. So I killed hundreds of people, simply for the amusement of a wicked woman." Erik's voice cracked as more tears threatened to spill.

In the darkness, Christine stood with her mouth open in shock, and her heart practically bursting with the pain of Erik's words. She gave a quiet moan as she realized why Erik was such a reclusive and stubborn man. The pains of his life were endless. He had murdered so many people! She knew she should despise him, yet she felt only pity. She bit her lip as Erik continued. Still, the preacher remained silent.

"After a while, the shah seemed to notice the disappearance of countless objects of value to him. At first, he didn't suspect me, as he thought me such a faithful subject. But after a while, all suspicion turned to me. He lost all respect he might have held for me, and ordered me to be killed. I knew my life was fixing to be over, and I hardly cared. In a way. . .I guess I was thankful. I was nothing to the world but a burden. But, however, a young man, who turned out to be the commissary of police, freed me.

"Unlike the young girl, I did not express my gratitude. I was a cold, emotionless shell to the world, drowning in my own self-pity. Nevertheless, I left. Nadir, the man who freed me, came after me a few years later, and found me where I was hiding. To this day, I do not know what his purpose was in seeking me out, but I do know he was a hunted man because he freed me. I allowed him to travel with me, and he brought along his son, whom I now choose not to speak his name," Once again, Erik's voice cracked, and he was forced to turn away from Father Gustave to wipe at the tears underneath his mask. Christine figured Erik must have been very close to the boy, but she feared what had happened to make Erik so miserable at the mere mention of him. Her question was soon answered, as Erik continued.

"His son was very talented. I taught him a lot; about music, literature, science, architecture, and I-,. .grew rather fond of him. He was like my son, and I loved him as such. Nadir trusted me with him, which was a mistake. A few years into our journey, Nadir's son became sick with pneumonia. At the time, neither I, nor Nadir, knew the cure, so we were forced to watch him suffer."

Christine remembered Erik having to bring Raoul to Nadir's house when he caught the illness. She felt a pang of sympathy for Erik. She thought she knew where this was going.

"Eventually, his illness became so bad that he began to cry out at night, begging to be put out of his misery. I was at a loss. What was I to do? Nadir was suffering just as much as I was, if not worse. I can only imagine what it must have been like, to have to watch your son dying every day. One day, my misery was so great that I,-. . .I put him out of his pain forever."

Christine gasped at this, and quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, thinking Erik must have surely heard it. But he kept his head to the preacher, and she realized he must not be aware of even Father Gustave's presence. She briefly saw the preacher's eyes avert toward her, and she saw him nod in understanding. Christine sighed. This was absolutely dreadful, yet her heart went out to Erik. She loved him so much, and she understood what compelled him to end the child's misery. But Erik was pained by it; that much was obvious. Christine would not be surprised if every night, he dreamed about his own hands going around the child's neck to commit that deplorable act of righteousness. . Erik continued, and Christine stopped the ranting in her mind so as to hear the rest.

"I simply added an extra dose of laudanum to his water that night, and I never even told him. What would it matter?" He said this with a twinge of hatefulness toward himself, and once again Christine felt her heart constrict. "Nadir found out, however, and he no longer trusted me. I became his enemy, and he cried out for his son every night. Oh, the pain I put that poor man through! Eventually, I could no longer take it, and fled Persia to return to Paris. I spent the nights on the street corners, and stole from merchants to feed myself. Eventually, I stumbled across a metal grate on the side of a building, which turned out to lead straight to the cellars of the Opera House, where I took up residence and became the Opera Ghost."

Erik fell silent, knowing the preacher probably knew the rest from newspaper articles and street gossip. Not sure what to say, he started to stand to leave, thinking his job was done. However, the preacher's voice brought him back to his knees at the altar.

"Are you regretful for the crimes you have committed?" The preacher's voice was kind and knowing, and he showed no horror at Erik's vile acts. All fear of Erik had evaporated the second his tears had started to flow. Erik closed his eyes, and more tears leaked out from underneath his eyelids. He nodded, not trusting his voice to stay steady. "More than you could ever know," he whispered. The preacher nodded, a small smile playing across his lips. He pitied this man, and he would do everything in his power to bless him with God's forgiveness.

Erik started to speak again, and the preacher's eyes shot up to his mask. The mask was such a misleading characteristic. This man's life was destroyed because of a mask. The Devil's Child, The Opera Ghost, monster, murderer, and countless other titles had been tacked to this man's soul, and they were names that would forever be engraved upon his person. Even though he had killed so many people, they were not upon his own wishes, but those of the woman he served under. His whole life was a complete horror. No one should have to live a life like that without God. Father Gustave listened to the man with heartfelt pity.

"Christine, Father, Christine saved me. She loved me as none other had before, and she chose me, _me, _above the Vicomte, who was rich and handsome! Never have I allowed myself to love someone as I have loved her, and if she had denied me, I would have died. But she didn't, and now, she wishes to marry me. That, I think, is an act of God. So now, I am forced to believe in his existence."

Christine smiled. She had never heard Erik so open with his feelings before. And to hear that she had been his salvation, was enough to bring her to her knees. Father Gustave nodded.

"Yes, I believe Christine has saved you, and I could not be happier that your confession has once again made you believe. Your life has been a horror from the moment you were born, and I believe you earned your happiness. Do not blame yourself for the pains of the past. What's done is done, and it is time to live in the present, with Christine. And I will forever pray that God will bless your souls. However, do not think that it was simply God's work that made her love you. She saw past your disfigurement from the very beginning, and saw the man inside. That, she did on her own accord, and be thankful for her. She is truly a treasure." Erik nodded. The man was certainly right about that.

"Thank you, Father, you flatter me." Christine's voice caused Erik's head to flash to hers in shock, before he remembered his face was covered in tears. He turned away from her, wiping away the tears as Christine knelt beside him. Once his face was fairly dry, he turned back to her with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Christine! How could you? I told you to stay outside!" Then, at Christine's tender smile, his face fell, and he gave a soft moan. "Oh, Christine, you heard everything. Now you will never wish to live with me. I was such a monster, such a vile and disgusting creature! How you can even stand to be in my presence. . ." He was cut off by Christine's warm embrace. Father Gustave, feeling uncomfortable, rose to allow the couple their privacy. Christine looked up briefly to thank him, before returning her face to Erik's chest. "Erik, for the last time, I love you, and I always will, no matter what your crimes have been in the past." Erik's hands were around her waist, gripping her as if she would disappear if he let go. She lifted her head, and placed her fingers on both sides of his face. "I do not fear you, nor will I ever. I am sorry you have had such a horrid life, and I hope to make up for it with out marriage. If, that is, you will allow me."

Erik's eyes closed and tears of bliss began to roll down his cheeks. He was no longer embarrassed of Christine's seeing his vulerability. What did it matter, if she loved him as she said she did? Erik laughed then, a small laugh of sheer relief. He took her hand, and lightly kissed the back of it. Christine smiled at him, tears coursing down her own cheeks. He put his forehead to hers, and she kissed his trembling mouth as he held her face in his hands. As she drew back, Erik smiled.

"You truly are an Angel."


	17. Raoul's Resolve

**Sorry it took me so long to update! I've had about five different projects, writer's block, illness, and not to mention TAKS tests, which are really lame and STUPID! and so I haven't had much writing time. Please give me my much needed constructive critisism on my writing thus far, because it's nearing some important parts and I need to know what needs to be fixed and what's just fine. Come on, I know there's some harsh critics out there! Let me have it! Lol. **

**Okay, sorry but no Erik or Christine in this chapter. This is all Raoul and the Girys, and this is basically just a little plot development. There is still a ways to go on this story; after all, just because they get married, doesn't mean they have happily ever afters, right:grins evilly: **

**By the way, some of these dates are totally off, I know, but hey, im a fiction writer, so that makes the timeline my own little plaything. **

**THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! And please forgive me for not responding to them, but u see, i am a selfish, heartless authoress who cares about noone but herself and her plushies.**

**Just kidding, i love you all, but poetry projects and math homework make it difficult to accomplish anything.**

**Disclaimer: You all know this, but Phantom of the Opera isn't mine. Gerard Butler is, however. **

**Raoul's Resolve**

Raoul slammed his fist down in frustration onto his mahogany desk, sending several pieces of parchment and inkwells flying to the floor. The abandoned stationary continued to swirl about for several moments, before finally resting motionless against the dusty floorboards of the Manager's office, where he had decided to take up residence until he rescued Christine, if he did, of course. As the papers fell to the floor, so fell Raoul's last shreds of sanity. The empty opera house hadnot been kind to his nerves. He had briefly wondered, on several occasions, if he were even allowed to take up residence in an abandoned opera house, or if it was safe, seeing as the Prussian War was inevitably approaching, but didn't allow himself to linger on the thought. After all, he _was _the patron of the opera house. And technically, he had that right, so he dismissed the thought.

The room smelled strongly of smoke, so much so that it had given him a headache, which of course was a welcome companion to the five thousand thoughts already pounding around in his brain. The dying candle sitting on the desk cast lazy shadows across the musty room, which was forlorn and bare of any signs of life other than the empty coathanger in one corner, and the gnats swirling around the wick of his candle. Outside, the last traces of light had completely faded away, leaving the world cloaked in night's cold, murky depths.

In the center of the room, Raoul sat motionless, his straining breath racking his ribs, and making him shudder with each intake as he struggled to calm his fury. His blonde locks were tangled and dirty, hanging untamed in front of his forehead. He was frozen to the core, despite it being late Summer, yet he sat in simply a white cotton shirt and trousers. His eyes, wild and blood-shot, with heavy, dark bags underneath them, glanced briefly out the cloudy window to the street below, where not a soul stirred, and not one stray animal or vagrant disrupted the peculiar stillness of the depth of the night. How he wished he could look down at that street, and see Christine emerge from a carriage, completely happy and free from Erik, and see her rush into the Opera House and tell him of how it was all a figment of his imagination, and that she had been released long ago, and had simply been staying at the house by the sea, waiting for him to come to her as he had used to. But he knew she was still being held captive, and it was his duty to save her.

But. . .damn it all! He couldn't take this torture anymore! What was he to do? Should he save her, or leave her to suffer, if she were suffering at all? For too long he had put himself through the agonizing task of telling himself Christine still loved him, that he hadn't been living in a lie all those times, and that there was no way Christine meant it when she said she loved Erik. He knew he had crossed the line by calling her a whore, and thathe had crossed the line on more occasions than that, but would he be able to fix it, to make her feel the way she used to? Or would she continue to love the Phantom and leave him to wallow in his own self-pity?

Maybe he should've never gone down there in the first place. Everyone would probably be in a better mood.

He growled in the back of his throat as an image forced itself into his senses of Christine, sitting all cozy and snug in the bowels of the opera house, in the arms of the monster. The monster he had lost his one true love to. He knew he had lost. Horridly. But he couldn't accept it, for that would be letting someone else get the better of him! And he had never lost, not once! His mother had taught him, his father had taught him,... Oh, for God's sake, why couldn't he let her go? He had to find some way. Or he would end up crazier than Erik.

He gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white, as more salty tears trekked down his cheeks and dripped onto his lap. He buried his head in his hands, muttering a few curses along the way, and tried to calm his nerves. Why he had been fated to fall in love with someone as naive as Christine was beyond him. He should have known that becoming infatuated with someone like her would only lead to trouble. But he had been stubborn, and believed that her 'infatuation' was as strong as his. He had been such a fool!

He sat there for hours on end, never moving once since Madame Giry and Meg had left, contemplating what he should do. He had come to the conclusion that there were two possible options that did not involve the police (which, on his last glance at the paper on his way to Rome, had given up the case as "a young opera singer and her abductor, the mysterious 'Opera Ghost', have disappeared below the Paris Opera House, almost as if they had never been there at all. After days of investigating her disappearance, police have decided there is no way anyone could survive under those conditions, and Mlle. Daae has either perished in the fire or died of an illness. Police are anxiously waiting permission to investigate further."), and only one of them seemed remotely feasible without making Christine hate him all the more.

He could very easily walk down into the Phantom's hellhole of a home, drag Christine up by the hair and force her to marry him. Or, he could choose the _sensible _course of action, though far more difficult to accomplish: abandon his title, and in the process disinherit his fortune, and pack up and move. Just leave; just get away somewhere where no one would know him, and he could start over. Maybe he could go to Rome and live with the Girys; it had been rather peaceful there. . .He briefly drifted into thoughts of himself, living alongside Meg Giry. . .young, cheerful little Meg.

He smiled softly to himself, remembering the girl's anxiousness at getting to see Christine again. That was when he finally came to his decision. He brought his head from his hands, sniffed, then stood with new determination after thoroughly wiping his cheeks dry. He mechanically stooped over to retrieve the fallen stationary and inkwells, and after rearranging them on the desk, felt slightly better. He would find Christine, and bring Meg with him, but only for Meg's sake. She wanted to see her friend, and she would grant Meg that pleasure. She needed to know she was happy. _He _needed to know she was happy. She would see how happy Christine was, regardless of how horrible it made _him_ feel, and Meg would finally be content, if she could ever get over the fact that her best friend was living with a Phantom. And, of course, there was always the possibility that, after talking with Meg and having her talk some sense into her, she might be persuaded to come back. Maybe. And if she wasn't, then Raoul would have to move on. Somehow.

A quiet tap at the door roused him from his musings, and he once again wiped at his cheeks to make sure it was clear of moisture. Even the knock of the door made his heart race, for his mind had procured the possibility that it could always be Christine on the other side. He took a deep breath before calling the person on the other side.

"Come in," he was surprised his voice didn't waver, and he gave a confident, if slightly tilted smile as Meg Giry walked into the room, followed by her mother. Meg smiled back, but Raoul noticed Madame Giry seemed irritated about something. Her mouth was set in a single line, and her eyes were no more than two slits. He briefly wondered if he had done something, but the look on Meg's face told him otherwise. She had a determined glint in her eyes, as if she was trying to prove that she was brave enough for something. Raoul guessed what it was, and waited patiently as Meg started speaking.

"Good evening, Monsieur. I know you have to be just as worried about Christine as I am, my mother too,-.." At this she cast a sidelong glance at Madame Giry, who rolled her eyes, before continuing. "And I was wondering, if tomorrow morning we might be able to go look for her. My mother knows the way perfectly." At this Madame Giry gave an indignant cry, obviously not exactly willing to reveal such a secret to her gossiping teenager. Raoul had to stifle a laugh at the humor of the moment, even though he knew there was nothing humourous about the reason she was there. "Today, at the café, mother said she-.." Madame Giry gave her daughter a sharp nudge with her elbow, and Raoul raised his eyebrow as Meg blushed crimson. "Today mother told me something important, and I need to go find Christine to. . .as her about it. So will you accompany us, Monsieur? For I am sure she is as anxious to see you as she is to get out of there!" Raoul scoffed quietly to himself, and Meg gave him an inquisitive tilt of her blonde head. Even though he knew what she said wasn't true, he decided to stick to his earlier resolution, and take her to see Christine. Even though he was well aware that Madame Giry knew the way and could take Meg herself, he needed to see her. Just one last time.

"Absolutely, Mademoiselle. I would be happy to accompany you." How ironic that it sounded more like he was being invited to tea rather than being asked to be an accompanist down to a murderer's home.

Meg smiled broadly, and Raoul marveled at the way one smile seemed to light up her entire visage, as if she had not a care in the world. Meg thanked him profusely as she jumped up and down on her toes, her dancer's feet barely making a noise as they repeatedly came down onto the ancient floorboards. Madame Giry gave him a dry good-night after telling him they would come at around two the next afternoon, and that he needed to be ready. He agreed, and Meg shut the door soundly behind her as they left the room.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Madame Giry furrowed her brow in plain trepidation, wringing her hands in her plain grey, floor-length dress. What was she supposed to do now? She shouldn't have told Meg what she saw. She should've known she would've reacted how she did.

As soon as she had gotten over the shock of seeing Christine, _with _Erik, in a _restaurant _of all places wearing an engagement ring on her left hand, she had taken a little time to think things over.

Christine had no idea what she was getting herself into. Did she expect to live underneath the ground for the rest of her life? She would fade into nothing faster than the flowers died in the first frost of winter! Oh, Christine was such a naive child! And Erik, the stubborn fool, how could he have asked her to- or made her, either one- marry him? Didn't he know the repercussions of such a thing?

She was a wanted person, and no one in the whole city didn't know about Christine and the mysterious Phantom. Madame Giry was amazed that they had even been able to dine undetected. She had eaten the rest of her lunch with Meg in silence, nodding along at Meg's comments without really hearing her, feeling as if she were underwater, or miles away from anyone. Should she tell Meg? She deserved to know, but how would she react? Knowing Meg, she'd probably start screaming about the stupidity of it all, saying it was impossible, there was no way in Heaven that it could possibly be so, and after about twenty minutes of coaxing her and telling her it was, in fact, the truth, she would sink into her chair, and beg for it to be a dream.

And just as Madame Giry had predicted, the moment the words were out of her mouth, Meg went flying out of her chair in the middle of the café, but thankfully Madame Giry was able to pay the cashier and get out of the café before she really lost it. Meg wasn't able to comprehend it. The Phantom she had seen on stage wasn't the same one Christine had seen, apparently. Meg has seen a lying, deceiving mastermind intent on using Christine's talents for himself. She reasoned that Christine was probably just confused, but Madame Giry knew she was trying more to convince herself than Madame Giry.

Madame Giry had let her daughter carry on all the while as they walked back to the Opera House, having decided it would be better to walk and let her get it all out before they reached the opera than to take a carriage, and eventually Meg stopped them both and turned to look at Madame Giry, sincere worry etched into her features.

"Mother, do you think Christine was forced to marry him?" Madame Giry panicked. She didn't know how to respond to that, for she honestly didn't know. And either way, she doubted Meg would be happy with her answer. For, if she told her that she had married him of her own free will, then Meg would think her friend was truly lost to her forever, and feel as if she never knew Christine at all, for the Christine she knew would never do such a thing. But if she told her she was forced, then that would worry her for the obvious reasons, but it might make her feel a little better to know Christine didn't want him. Madame Giry shook her head.

"I wouldn't know Meg. I honestly don't know. When she looked at me, there was a pleading in her eyes, but I think it was more of a want of secrecy than the need for help. And Erik, Erik looked somewhat. . .different." That was an understatement. Never had he looked more. . .normal, despite his expression of panic that was obviously caused by his fear of being discovered.

Meg nodded slowly, not exactly pleased at her mother's reply. After they walked on in silence, the afternoon grew into evening, and Meg stopped them once more, right as they reached the Opera House. "What is it, Meg?" She tried not to sound irritable, but really she wanted nothing more than to go up to her room and collapse on top of her warm, familiar bunk. Meg blushed lightly, shuffling her feet as she looked up at the second floor, where a candle illuminated a room through a dusty window, obviously Raoul's room.

"Mother, I'm going to see Christine tomorrow. I need to hear it from herself. If she's happy, then fine. I'll leave her alone with her. . .husband. But, if she's miserable and that monster is forcing her there against her will, then I'm- .. .I'm going to get Raoul to come with us to save her." Meg looked down at her feet then, afraid Madame Giry was going to scold her, and her blonde curls fell over her forehead, blocking her face from view. Madame Giry sighed, knowing this would come. "We'll ask Monsieur le Vicomte, and if he wants- which he very well may not-, then we will go." That had pleased Meg, but it had worried Madame Giry. And now that she knew they would go, she feared Erik's reaction. He would either throw a rage at their intruding, and she wasn't sure Raoul going was the safest idea, but he obviously wanted to go, or he would accept them calmly and pleasantly, almost as if they were regular acquaintances that met for tea, and that would somehow be even more frightening.

As she lay on her shabby cot staring at the spider webs laced throughout the ancient ceilings, she prayed for the best. What exactly that was, she wasn't sure, but she only hoped that Erik and Christine could both turn out happy, or there was no way she would ever be happy herself. She no longer feared for Raoul's sake, for she had noticed that he seemed to have finally realized there was little hope Christine would ever be returning. Despite the obvious fact that he had been crying, she figured he would go on fine. Besides, she could tell her daughter was infatuated with the Vicomte, as much as she wasn't exactly approving of it, and hopefully she would be able to help Raoul get over Christine. If not, well, she was too exhausted to think of that, and she drifted off into unconsciousness.

**XXXX**

**Yes I know, fairly boring. But hey, every story's got their own boring chapter every once in a while! Anyway, I'm suffering from a fairly bad case of writer's block, so please don't hate me if my next update doesn't come for a while! Please review, and remember, I NEED CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISM! This is my first story, and I need to know what's bad so I don't do it in the future. **

**By the way, please forgive any grammar errors!**


	18. Company

**I'm alive! Hehe. Surprised? Okayokayokayokay! Big Thingy here! Lol. I CHANGED THE STORY! I know, I'm terrible. But you know how in chapter 9 they..cough..got intimate? Yeah well. I kinda sorta forgot the whole "no sex until after marriage" thing, so..there has been no sex yet. K? Sorry about that! Anyways..Here's chapter 18! I'm_ super_ sorry it took me so long. I got obsessed with Wicked and unfortunately..I was temporarily pulled from my Phantom Phan-ism. But, I'm back:)** **This chapter is kind of short, but I just needed to get something written. It's not anything special, as my muse is being really mean to me right now, so forgive my rather crappy writing. :)**

Erik sat on the floor in the living room of his house beneath the opera, staring into the flames of the fire burning in front of him. He didn't blink, he barely breathed, and his face didn't flinch. On the couch behind him, his angel was sleeping soundly, a thick quilt wrapped around her body, curls spilling over the warm coverlet and her body curled into a child-like position. He was thinking, as he had hardly had time to do as of late. So much had happened the past week; he hardly believed it to be reality. He sighed.

How could this be possible? He was a maniacal, disfigured, self-pitying, over-reacting fool with a hot temper. And Christine was here. Christine was going to marry him. And she had convinced him to come to God, what he had never done since the days of his childhood, when Father Mansart had come to his house to perform Mass. How could such a small person make him do all these things?

As much as he was loathe to admit it, Christine scared him. Christine, dear sweet innocent little Christine, terrified him with her honesty and kindness. How could he ever end up with someone so beautiful and pure? He was sure he would wake up one day and find that he was alone again, dying from heartache in the cold, lonely cellars that were his own personal Hell.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the ache of his head as he tried to relax. _Get over it Erik. Relax. She loves you. Someone actually loves you, and can see past your face. Now are you going to accept her love, or keep wallowing in your own self-pity? _That annoying voice in his head was right. Christine could have rejected him anytime she wanted, but she never had. She had even let him. . .no. His body stirred, remembering her kisses, her touch, letting him hold her as she slept. . he really needed to stop his mind from thinking that direction. He smiled softly. Never had he felt such. .peace.

Tomorrow he would tell her of his plans for them to move to Rome, and perhaps they could even plan for there marriage to be held there, instead of having it in Paris. Rome really was a beautiful place. The only question was. . would he be able to wait that long? For he was anxiously awaiting the moment when they would finally be one, in marriage as well as-. .

_Erik, you are a selfish monster. Can't you think of anything but_ _your own foolish urges? Christine may not even want to share her body with you on her wedding night! Then what would you do, Erik, to control yourself?_

Erik growled. It didn't matter anyway. If Christine was still nervous about giving herself to him, which he was as well, knowing nothing about it, then so be it. As long as they were united in marriage. He took a deep breath, then stood up from the floor. As comfortable as it was, he knew falling asleep there would do nothing for him but give him a neck-ache. He stretched, then froze as he looked down at his angel. She looked so gorgeous and innocent; she made his breath catch every time he saw her. She looked too beautiful to be real. Maybe if he touched her she would disappear.

He stretched his hand out. .entranced by her gorgeous skin and gleaming curls. .then stopped himself when he finally realized what he was doing. He mentally kicked himself. What was he thinking? He would hate himself if he disturbed Christine from her slumber just because he had longed to touch her. Surely _that_ would be enough to deny him the right to her bed forever. He smirked, before standing once again. Giving one last longing look at his angel, he touched one of her silky curls, then disappeared into his room. He removed his jacket, cravet, waist-coat and ruffled shirt until he stood in nothing but his trousers. He took off his mask and set it on the dresser beside his bed, before crawling underneath the silk sheets. He was out before he could even acknowledge the fact that he was tired for the first time in years.

Christine was changing him. And Erik was certain it was for the better.

After thirty-seven years of waiting, his life was finally beginning.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"Um, Maman?" Meg as nervously as they made their way through the Rue Scribe entrance, Raoul following behind. Raoul wanted to lead the way, in case they ran into any danger, but Madame Giry insisted that was foolish, since only she knew the way and it would only put them in more danger. He had grudgingly agreed. But now, after about thirty minutes of walking into what seemed to be only growing darkness, Meg was starting to doubt her mother. It felt like they were walking in circles. How could there be this many passages underneath the opera? Surely they were lost.

"Yes, Meg?" Her mother asked irritably from a few feet in front of her, her hand gripping Meg's tightly. Meg tried to make out her face in the dim light of the lantern, but the darkness seemed to swallow her whole.

"Uh. .do you know where we're going? Because it doesn't look like-. ." She was cut off as she felt her feet drop into icy water, and she gave a small yelp before jumping backwards and crashing into Raoul, who caught her clumsily with a small 'oomph'. Meg blushed, feeling his arms around her waist. She felt him hold on longer than necessary, before quickly dropping his hands. She felt him move away from her, and she blushed a deeper crimson. She was thankful it was so dark.

"Meg, Monsieur le Vicomte, are you both going to stand there like fools all day, or do you want to find Christine? If you do, then please hurry. And yes, there is water, but it is not deep. It reaches three feet, at the most. Thank goodness you wore your old skirts, Meg. ." Meg nodded, forgetting the fact that her mother couldn't see it, before following her mother into the icy water. She gave a gasp as the water soaked through her pantalets, and her teeth began to chatter immediately. She gasped again as she felt Raoul come up behind her and put one hand at her back and another beneath her legs, and pick her up. She blushed again, and felt certain she was going to be permanently red if she kept this up. What was the matter with her? She gave a quiet 'thank you' to the man carrying her, to which he gave a slight nod that she could barely make out in the darkness. He was staring intently in front of him, and she could tell he was trying to stay calm. What was making him so nervous?

Of course, why didn't she realize? He was anxious to see Christine again. Why else would he be acting this way? She sighed, not sure why she felt as if her heart had dropped into her stomach, and buried her head in his chest. She felt his body tense, before he relaxed and continued on after Madame Giry. For once, to Meg's horror, she found herself wishing Christine would stay away from Raoul.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Christine was sitting in the couch in the study of Erik's home, reading a particularly thick book that she found especially interesting and humming to herself, as Erik sat in front of her at his desk, writing furiously to someone on a piece of parchment. Christine's brow furrowed as his pen scratched across the paper for the thousandth time. The irksome sound was made even more annoying by the quiet of the room, and she wished he would just finish with his letter. Finally, she slammed her book closed, determined to tell him to hurry up and get finished with his letter or get the heck out of the room so she could read, when she saw Erik stop writing. Christine gave a sigh of relief, and was about to go back to reading when she saw his back stiffen, and saw his head shoot up as if he had been called. Christine thought he looked so much like a dog that she half-expected to see his ear perk up, or for him bare his teeth. .

Christine burst out laughing, unable to shake the image from her mind. Erik looked at her in shock, his eyes widening in confusion.

"Christine?" He asked, as her laughter only grew. "Christine, stop it," he ordered, getting annoyed. Was she laughing at him? Why? Finally her silence ebbed away, and Christine gave a light cough before looking back to her book as if nothing had happened. Erik shook his head at her in awe. What a strange girl she was sometimes. . .

He shook himself mentally, remembering what had caused him to become distracted from his letter. His sensitive ears had picked up the sound of voices, very faint, in the passageways beyond his home.

"Christine, do you hear that?"

She looked up from her book, and turned her head towards the doorway, listening for what Erik was talking about. She nodded to Erik as, just barely, she made out the sound of water splashing and a woman's voice. She couldn't make out the woman's voice, though it seemed familiar. .

"Madame Giry and her daughter," Erik said quickly, as if reading her thoughts. She turned to him in shock. Of course. She had forgotten about his exceptional hearing. Christine felt a wave of joy course through her. They were finally coming to visit! She missed seeing Meg and going to ballet practice with her, and staying up all night giggling about the newest patrons that had come to the opera. And Madame Giry. .Christine felt tears come to her eyes as she remembered the strict mother figure she loved so dearly. She hoped that she had gotten the message at the café; her shocked expression seemed to convey the fact that she had.

"Oh, Erik!" She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. He looked to her, and her smile fell at his grim expression. His entire being seemed to radiate hatred.

"Erik?" she asked nervously. He turned away from her, glaring at the doorway as the splashes grew louder and more pronounced.

"I believe Raoul is with them as well." Christine gasped, before groaning in annoyance. Erik looked at her in surprise as she stretched herself out on the couch, and pulled the coverlet out from under her that she had slept with the night before.

"Erik, come here," she ordered, and Erik could hear the coldness in her voice. Would Raoul ever get the message? Erik raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but she just insistently patted the place beside her on the couch. He walked over to her hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest despite his attempt to quiet it. He sat stiffly on the corner of the couch, but Christine pulled him to her and ordered him to lay with her. Erik complied, slightly frightened by Christine's new behavior. What exactly was she trying to do? He stretched himself out beside her, trying to keep as far from her as he could without falling off the couch. He finally lost his patience when Christine tried to pull him closer to her. That didn't stop him from doing as she wished, however.

"Christine, what exactly are you doing? I don't know if you have perhaps forgotten, but your friend and her mother, as well as that foolish boy are going to be here any minute, and if they find us like this, it will certainly-. ." he stopped, his eyes widening in shock. "You little vixen!" he gasped, but Christine could see the look of pure adoration gleaming in his eyes. Christine smiled slyly, before positioning herself atop him.

She pulled the coverlet over both of them, and instructed Erik to hold her. Erik mechanically did so, grumbling that she could be more polite when ordering him to do such things. She ignored him, ordering him again to close his eyes. He sighed, doing so immediately. He never thought Christine had it in her to be so mischievous. Although he could think of a few _other_ things that would leave no doubt to anyone's mind how they felt about one another, and were even more pleasurable. . .He sighed again, then tensed as his body responded to his thoughts. He uttered a string of curses to his foolish body, and he felt Christine laugh against his chest. His body warmed at the feeling. He tried to relax, forcing his eyes to remain close and evening his breathing.

He gasped as he felt Christine's mouth against his own, warm and inviting. His body trembled at the contact, and his heart beat furiously with her own. So Christine had more planned than to have him simply hold her? He silently praised her for her planning. His mouth opened slightly to Christine's coaxing mouth, and he held back the moan as Christine pressed herself tightly against him. He brought his shaking hands to her hair, tangling him in her chestnut locks. He would never get enough of the taste of her. He pushed her firmer against him, his body instantly responding to Christine's kiss. He gasped again as he felt her slide her tongue along his bottom lip, asking permission to explore further. He granted it, and she moaned quietly into his mouth as his tongue slid past hers, and began a frenzied, impassioned battle with her own.

Never had they kissed this passionately, and Erik could only hope that this wasn't just for show, and that there would be more in the future. After several minutes, they broke for a short moment to breath, both noticing the other's lust-filled eyes, before finding each other's mouth once again. _I should have Raoul come over more often, _Erik noted to himself, then smiled against Christine's mouth at the thought.

**XxXxXxXxX**

"It's here," Raoul instructed, as they reached the door, that he had first stepped through when he had discovered Christine, laying in that _thing's _bed, wearing nothing but a revealing nightgown. His blood boiled at the memory. Meg stirred in his arms, and he embarrassedly remembered that he no longer needed to hold her. He placed her gently to the ground, but noticed that she seemed reluctant for him to let go. He gave a small smile to her, which she returned in kind. He turned to Madame Giry, who was observing them both with the eyes of a strict mother. He instantly stepped back from her daughter. The last thing his tired body needed was to feel the wrath of Madame Giry's cane.

They opened the door hesitantly, clothes dripping onto the cold stone floor, and Raoul's hand ached to reach for the pistol he kept in the holster on the inside of his jacket. He had to remain calm and composed. He squinted in the light of Madame Giry's lantern, and Raoul briefly wondered why the blasted monster didn't light his own home. They were in an empty room. .it looked to be a living room, complete with an elegant Victorian settee, a rather-comfortable looking maroon chair, and a sofa. The remnants of a large fire were left in the fireplace, the embers still burning from an earlier fire. Raoul looked around the room carefully, looking for another doorway. .

"There!" He pointed to the doorway on the opposite side of the room, and Madame Giry and Meg came up behind him to see what had drawn him to that door. They could see a small slip of light coming from underneath the door. Raoul hurriedly ran to it, his wet boots sloshing against the floor. Meg and Mme. Giry followed after him, but he whispered for them to stop as they came to stand in front of the door. Madame Giry rolled her eyes. If there was anyone behind that door, then there was no doubt that they had heard them by now. Taking a deep breath, Raoul threw the door to the study open, and stepped in, Madame Giry and Meg at his heels.

**XxXxXxXx**

**Yay for cliffies! Lol sorry. Sorry for the shortness. At least there's some E/Cness, right? -shifty eyes- ooohh the next chappie's gonna be fun! Lol.Okay big thank you to Twinkle22, Jamea, ErikMySweet, Memory from a Dream, Saloma-Kiwi, Mystery Guest, MyDarkAngelErik, and mika. I love you all! -hugs-**

**PLEASE REVIEW! -offers brownies-**


	19. Moving On?

**Whoa, this chapter turned out WAY different than I thought it would.. I'm not gonna say anything else. **

**Thank you to all my reviewers! MWAH! I love you all so much! -offers brownies made by obsessedbyerik- hey you get some of your own brownies! -hands brownies- hehe. **

**-hands brownies to rest of reviewers-**

**Okay I want to ask this now, now that I'm nearing the end. .sequel or no? Because I'm planning to do a modern-day as well, which I want to know about that as well! Do you think I could do it? -shifts eyes-. And anyone who happens to be reading "Love's Saving Light", I'm sorry but, I don't think that it's going to make it. I've suddenly turned into an ENORMOUS Raoul fan overnight, and now I can't write anything bad about him. -sighs, then wonders why everyone is looking at me strangely-. . .OH! NO! I MEANT I LIKE RAOUL, BUT NOT AS MUCH AS ERIK! -cowers-**

**Geez...anyways, sorry for the long author's note! Here's my newest chapter!**

**Chapter 19: Hearts and Friendship**

What Raoul, Madame Giry, and little Meg found on the other side of the door could only be described as a surprise of unbelievable proportions, which threw the whole room into complete and utter chaos. As soon as the door to the study opened and Raoul stepped through first, Meg and Mme. Giry had a split second to realize something was horribly wrong by Raoul's shocked expression and pale face, and the way he began stuttering incoherent phrases, before they too entered the room. They followed Raoul's shocked and unbelieving eyes to the couch, where they were shocked-to say the least- to find a certain blue-eyed brunette and an unmistakably familiar masked man locked in a. .rather intimate embrace. Erik's cravat was laying on the floor, along with his waist coat and shirt.

The couple didn't separate, even with Raoul's rather annoying and repetitive mutterings, until Meg let out a high-pitched squeal, followed by a similar squeal that resembled Christine's name.

The couple instantly broke apart, Christine still sitting on his lap. They were both breathing heavily, and Christine's face was flushed and Erik's equally so, and his a little bewildered, as well. Christine smiled broadly as she saw her best friend, who was blushing furiously and looking away, and her mother, and she even gave a small smile to the man who had now collapsed in Erik's chair, still muttering to himself.

The silence was murderous, but no one could find the bravery to break it.

"You- you came to visit!" Christine said half-heartedly, still slightly exhausted from her. . .previous exertions, but anxious to break the uncomfortable shocked silence.

"Chrissy! When did you start to. .Oh, God, you're wearing his ring, still! Please tell me he forced you into it!" Meg screamed from behind her mother's form, slightly over the aftershock of seeing her best friend acting so scandalously. Christine started to say something, but Madame Giry's cane coming down hard and strong against the stone floor made everyone in the room, including Erik, jump.

"Christine! _What,_ exactly, were you doing? We were actually coming down here to make sure you were alright, but obviously we no longer need to ask!"

Christine had the decency to look embarrassed, a light blush tinging her cheeks, and she looked to Erik as if for confirmation to speak, but he was staring at the ceiling, dazed and five million miles away.

"Christine!" Christine turned away from Erik with a start as she saw Raoul coming towards her, his face sweaty and pale. He looked absolutely devastated, and Christine couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse. That is, until she felt Erik's grip around her waist tighten. Raoul looked ready to say something, but all he could do was open his mouth repeatedly, before closing it again.

"Christine, answer me!" Christine looked away from Raoul, and saw his eyes cloud in disappointment. Christine figured he was shamed beyond belief, and she felt rather raunchy and vile now that her plan had played out.

Madame Giry's tone was unbelievably fierce, pulling her from her thoughts, and Christine couldn't help but be reminded of when Meg had gotten caught with Robert, the stage hand, in the storage closet, and had gotten a severe tongue-lashing from her mother, followed by a few hundred excruciatingly painful ballet barre exercises. Maybe her idea wasn't the best after all. .though Raoul's reaction was exactly what she had desired. Somehow it wasn't as gratifying as she had hoped. Why could she feel nothing but sympathy for the man who had called her a whore? Maybe it wasn't his fault. .he was simply stunned by her proclamations of love for another man. He was only human, after all. God only knew what she would do if she ever caught _Erik _with another woman. .She shuddered at the thought, though she knew she would have nothing to worry about. Not because of his face, but looking at his eyes, she knew she was his only one. It was a warm feeling that she never wanted to lose.

Sighing, she looked back up to Madame Giry. She felt Erik's eyes on her, and she could tell he was as anxious to know her answer as Madame Giry was, and no doubt everyone else in the room. What could she say now that she felt such pity for the very boy she had done this for to cause pain on his behalf? She guessed she could only tell the truth.

"I was, uh,. .well. I was kissing him." That was obvious, but she didn't know what else she was expected to say. She blushed, and she could swear she felt Erik smirk from beside her.

"But Chrissy, why? He's the one who locked you up in this dreadful place in the first place, don't you remember? Madame Giry told me she saw you two in the café, but I honestly thought he had _forced_ you into getting engaged with him! I mean honestly, what in the world would you want do with someone who lives down in a cold old cellar! Because I'll have you know, I would never-. ."

Christine felt Erik's arms tighten once again, as if challenging her to defend him. She started to speak to interrupt Meg, but was thankful when Mme. Giry cut her off herself.

"That is enough, Megan. Thank you." Meg blushed as her mother cut her off. She was rambling, but what was she supposed to do? She had just caught her best friend kissing-quite passionately, to make it worse- the very man who had killed poor Piangi, and Buquet as well! The Opera Ghost, for drat's sake! And plus, he was a lying, deceitful mastermind who deserved to be locked up forever! Why couldn't Christine see that? Did she not remember the fact that he had remorselessly harmed the diva _just _so she could win the starring role? Not that that was _totally _horrid. . Meg turned to her mother as she spoke again. Poor Christine! Madame Giry had never taken it upon herself to reprimand Christine in the entire time they had known each other, as much as it made Meg green with envy.

"Christine, I am ashamed! And Erik, you as well! Christine, you are barely eighteen! And Erik you are, what, thirty six?"

"Thirty seven, . ." he muttered irritably.

"Thirty seven! And you do not even have the decency to wait until you are married? Christine I thought I raised you to be more civil than this! You're acting worse than Meg!"

At this Meg gave an indignant squeal, and Christine had to stifle a laugh.

Madame Giry sighed. She was baffled, and with good reason to be. Christine had always been the most innocent, quiet, respectful, and introverted person Madame Giry had ever known. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with that- in fact, she often wished that Meg would be a tad bit more 'quiet and respectful', herself- but her behavior now was absolutely out of character!

"I guess you will be happy, then? With Erik?" she asked resignedly. No reason to argue with the child now; one look in the girl's eyes told them all what they needed to know: she loved him.

Christine nodded, and Madame Giry, after a few seconds of studying Christine tenderly, nodded as well.

"At least someone finally will show him the love he always deserved, . ." Christine beamed, and she looked to Erik as Meg and Madame Giry began talking amongst themselves to see him hardly paying attention to the conversation, obviously too entertained watching Raoul. What could be entertaining him so. .?

**XxXxXx**

Raoul was oblivious to the conversation going on in front of him. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't have the strength in his body to leave. Right now, he just wanted to scream and shout and throw as many heavy objects as he could find. He couldn't believe it! How was he supposed to react to seeing such a scene? He shouldn't have come here. He should have abandoned his title, and left for Rome or Naples or even America! He could have let Meg and Madame Giry find Erik and Christine on their own. How in the world would he ever be able to get the sight of Christine and that wretched beast _kissing?_ Not that he hadn't seen it before, but the last time it had been to protect him! At least, he had thought. .

Raoul sighed. He had truly been, without even realizing it, clinging onto one tiny thread of hope that Christine would still love him, and that thread had been broken, neatly cut in two just like his freshly shattered heart. Why was it that no one felt anything more than pity for him, now? He remembered the days when he had been respected in society, and well-liked by many women of the nobility. If he had simply decided to marry one of them,-. .but no. He would only love Christine. Even Meg Giry, as delightful, charming, beautiful, and light-hearted as she was, would probably never be able to tempt him. . .

He glanced up at Meg's horrified yet still gorgeous face as she spoke swiftly to her suddenly-scandalous best friend, her long blonde locks tied back loosely with a silk ribbon, brown eyes glittering with shock and curiosity. He couldn't help but smile softly at her.

"_Ah, so you've moved on from Christine already?"_

Raoul whipped his head towards the back of the room, behind his chair, where he had heard the voice. The voice resembled Erik's, but how would he. .?

There was nothing but a small wooden desk and the stone floors. What in the world. .?

"_You are such an imbecile sometimes. I truly enjoy taunting you. Hopefully this will drive you mad enough too realize that not only can you not have Christine, but you can't be better than me!"_

Raoul reflexively looked toward the ceiling, then the space underneath the couch that Erik and Christine were sitting on, and then the empty doorway. The voice was everywhere! He looked to Erik, knowing it was him but wondering if it were truly _him_. The voice made it obvious that he was going madso maybe hearing his voice was the first step? He studied Erik's expression. His face was calm and placid as stone, and he seemed to be fidgeting his lower body(which Christine was still positioned on, much to Raoul's chagrin)He wasn't paying the least bit of attention to Raoul, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation going on in front of him.

"_I thought you above what you've done, De Chagny."_

Raoul clamped his sweaty hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, as if it could block out the taunting voice that wouldn't leave him alone. But now, it was in his head, and he knew he was truly going insane._ Thank goodness no one pays attention to me anymore,_ he thought.

" _You've fallen for a woman who is your _**previous** _'love''s best friend. You certainly are one low, heartless creature. And you call _me _a monster. Look around, Monsieur. Are any of these people on _your_ side?"_

Raoul slowly brought his hands from his ears and opened his eyes, and did as the voice instructed. First he looked to Madame Giry, and strongly recalled the many times he had spoken inconsiderately to her simply because she sided with Erik. And he had always demanded he tell her things, and what gave him the right to speak to her that way? No doubt the voice was right about _her_ never being on his side. He then looked to little Meg, who had just given a particularly shrill squeak at something her mother had said, and Raoul had never seen such a small action look so. .endearing. What was the matter with him? Meg had the attention of nearly every male dancer and stage hand that had ever worked in the opera house, and yet Raoul had no doubt that she loathed him with a fierce intensity. Who didn't these days? Besides his brother, whom he hadn't seen in quite a while. . .

He shook himself mentally, and looked to Christine. Why he felt the need to look at her when she only made him want to clutch his broken heart and hold it out to her, no matter how broken it was, was beyond him. She was studying Erik curiously now, as Meg and Madame Giry had begun talking quietly about something amongst themselves. Even through her curious expression, he could see the love in her cerulean eyes, a love that he had thought Christine had held for him, but obviously, he had been mistaken all along. What a fool he was, he even called her a whore. . .! He winced, then pushed the memory from his mind. If Christine could forget it, so could he. And plus, sure Erik killed a few people, and had almost murdered _him _as well but they were all for Christine's sake, and maybe they had threatened his life in some way. What did he know, anyway? Erik was simply misunderstood, and he obviously loved Christine. .

He really wasn't all that bad. Rather good-mannered and kind, actually. .

Suddenly Erik's expression caused Raoul to lock eyes with the masked man. He saw the corner of Erik's mouth turn up as the voice came back into his head:

"_Well, you look rather chipper. Might I ask why?" _

That bastard! Raoul's mouth fell open as he saw Erik's lips curl into a cruel sneer as he fought to contain his laughter. It was him all along! He should have known. .He was more sane than that! He clenched the arms of the couch in his fists, and looked at his lap, avoiding contact with Erik's gleeful eyes, trying to fight back the string of curses that were fighting their way up his throat. How dare he. .how _dare he make him question his sanity?_

"Ah, Vicomte, something seems to be bothering you." All eyes went to Erik as he spoke for the first time since their unexpected confrontation, besides the muttered mention of his age. Then, all eyes shifted to Raoul, who was sitting tensely in his chair, hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles were white, and his jaw clenched severely.

"Care to tell us why you are so bothered?" To everyone in the room but Christine, Erik's voice was cool and calm, but Christine could hear the pure joy in Erik's voice at finally getting his opportunity for revenge. Christine only hoped he didn't take it too far.

Raoul finally looked up at Erik, and Christine had never seen his pale blue eyes so incredibly angry. He glared icily at Erik, and his words were coated with loathing so thick Christine swallowed nervously and tried to look away from the two, as if she felt like she were interfering.

Raoul wasn't sure what to say. He was trying to tell himself that he had given up, that he understood the people in this room wanted nothing to do with him, and that he should leave it at that. But his aristocratic pride that had been instilled in him since birth rose to Erik's challenging tone.

"A smart man like you would have been able to tell we were coming. So was this just a show to make me believe that you two are truly happy? Oh, don't get me wrong, I can tell that you are. . .perfectly comfortable. Was this all planned to trick poor Raoul? Well, fine then. So be it. Christine, I offer you one last chance." His voice broke before he could finish, and Meg looked at him in sympathy. How could Christine do this to him?

Christine looked at him in confusion. What did he mean? He cleared his throat, trying to find his strength again. Raoul mentally slapped himself. He added a kick to that as well. What in the world was he doing? But he couldn't stop now, the words were out before he could stop them.

"One last chance, to be with me. To leave this- to leave this Erik behind, and all the dreariness and sadness with it. I can give you everything, Christine! You've ripped my heart out several times now," Christine flinched, as if he had hit her, but Raoul continued as if he had not seen her. "But I'm still as willing as I ever was to give it up again, no matter the consequences, no matter how tattered it is. Please Christine, because no one else can ever mend it."

The tension in the room was suffocating, and Christine looked down at Erik's hands entwined with hers. She knew who she loved. But Raoul . .would he really never be able to live without her? She looked at Erik, who was studying her with a cold, calculating eye, but she could see the pain and desperation hidden behind his wall of ice. Looking back at the three people standing-or sitting- rigidly in front of him, Christine saw something strange. Looking at Meg, she saw her best friend studying Raoul with warmth and pity, but also something else, something she knew all too well. Suddenly, she had a feeling Raoul might be able to move on after all.

"I'm sorry Raoul. I am truly happy here, and though it is a little, . .um," She paused, not wanted to offend Erik, for she was rather fond of his home in some ways, but unable to think of a word to describe their home. "Cold," she continued. "I am willing to stay here as long as Erik allows." Raoul nodded at this resignedly, and brought his hands up to his eyes and began rubbing them tiredly.

"Which, . ." Erik started, immediately breaking the uncomfortable silence. "won't be for long, seeing as I plan to move us to Rome to stay with the Giry's, in their home."

Everyone in the room was shocked, except Madame Giry. Meg was simply standing there gaping, terrified of the thought of having a masked murderer living in her home. Madame Giry remained unfazed. She understood now that Erik planned on moving for reasons other than architecture, as she had first believed, though she was rather happy with the idea. Erik was, after all, like a son to her, and Christine was her daughter in every way but blood.

Suddenly the new silence was broken by a squeal of incredible delight from the brunette sitting next to her fiancé as she threw her arms around his neck in pure rapture. Erik, slightly surprised but getting used to this attention, simply squeezed her tighter.

"Do you mean it, Erik? Do you really want to leave all of this behind?" she whispered against his neck, and she felt the tears against her cheeks before she realized she had cried them. She vaguely sensed the sound of three people shuffling uncomfortable toward the door, and quickly turned to them before they could leave.

"Wait!" she called, and the three turned to her in surprise. "Uhm, do you, do you all-including Raoul-, do you want to come to our wedding?" Meg eagerly agreed, thrilled at the idea of a wedding, temporarily forgetting who's wedding she would be attending. Madame Giry nodded her consent, smiling softly at her. They all looked to Raoul expectantly, and Christine felt her heart tear a little more as she saw his pained expression, which he quickly tried to mask with a strained smile.

Smiling softly, she did the only thing she could do to make him feel better. She stood, turned to Erik and gave him a look that meant for him to let her be- to which he warily nodded- and everyone was silent as she stood and walked to Raoul. She put her hands on his tense shoulders, and nervously leaned in towards his face. She felt his intake of breath as her lips met his trembling ones, and she felt his salty tears on her lips. This felt so familiar. . She felt Erik's indignant growl from the couch, but she was pleased to know that he remained seated. She made the kiss a little firmer, allowing him to open her mouth slightly but not enough to make it truly intimate. They both knew the difference.

The kiss was a goodbye kiss, and a way of telling him to move on from her and live. Raoul had never hurt so much in his life. When she finally pulled back and looked into his eyes, her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. His tears had left salty tracks down his tired, now gaunt face, and his hair was messy and unkempt. With his soaking wet ruffled shirt and black boots, he looked so much like. .

She gave a gasp for air as tears started streaming down her own cheeks, and she paid no heed to the others in the room as she brought him in for one more kiss, before wrapping her arms around his trembling torso. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent that was so familiar to him, yet was now slightly reminiscent of _him. ._He tightened his arms, choking on his sobs as he tried to force himself to release the girl in his arms and let her go to her new lover. But, oh, how he wanted to hold her forever. .

Christine finally pulled back, but leaning in one more time and whispering in his ear "She loves you, Raoul. Trust me on this." Raoul furrowed his brow in confusion. Surely she didn't mean. .

"And please, Raoul," she continued "Let us still be friends. We used to be so happy, all the time,. ." her voice cracked as she thought back to their days in Brittany, playing along the beach. . .she couldn't think of that now. She was happy now, but she would always need Raoul. He was her best friend! He knew her better than anyone, besides Erik, of course. As stubborn and conceited as he could be sometimes, he was still practically family. She only hoped he would agree to remain her friend.

She gave a sigh of relief as he smiled slightly and nodded. He embraced her on his own this time, knowing this was the last time he would be allowed to do so for a long time, before releasing her.

"I would be happy to attend the wedding, Little Lotte." His words were still strained, but Christine knew he would be fine. He just had to, or she wouldn't be able to live with herself. .

She watched him curiously as he looked at Meg, briefly glancing at Madame Giry as well, and Christine followed his gaze to find Meg glaring at the ground, irritation evident in this crease along her forehead. Christine sighed, and looked back at Raoul, and was pleased when she saw the light smile on his mouth. _Christine's right. I need to. .move on. .and Meg really is such a sweet girl. ._

He walked over to Meg, and cleared his throat, making her look up at him in surprise.

Christine quietly walked over to Erik, who was glaring at her every step, but Christine knew he understood. Otherwise Raoul would be wearing a noose around his neck at the moment. Christine sat down on his lap, making him tense ever so slightly before she rested her head against his shoulder, watching her two best friends in the entire world as they stared at each other. Christine entwined her fingers with Erik's, and sighed in contentment as Raoul began to speak. Christine had never seen Meg so red. .

"Mademoiselle," he began shakily. "I was wondering if you would. .be my company to Christine's wedding?. ." He trailed off nervously as Meg continued to stare at him, not understanding. Christine tightened her grip on Erik's hands, praying for Meg to see, just for once, how much this man cared for her.

She smiled as Meg broke into a wide grin, her eyes lighting up with elation.

"Absolutely!" she gasped, but it came out more as a question as she glanced nervously at Christine, as if for permission. Christine's smile was permission enough, and Meg smiled lovingly at the girl who had been her best friend for so long. She looked back to Raoul, smiling confidently, before repeating her answer. Raoul's shoulders dropped in relief, and he smiled awkwardly at the girl in front of him, trying to regain some of his aristocratic charm that he used to possess and be able to use to diligently. It seemed to work, for Meg blushed and giggled as she turned towards her mother, who had been watching the entire exchange from a chair close to Christine and Erik's. She was elated for them, _all _of them, in fact, and smiled at her daughter.

**XxXxXxX**

Raoul and Meg had agreed to stay for a few hours longer, and they would leave before nightfall. When Raoul asked how anyone knew when that was, with it being so dark underground, all he needed was a harsh glare from Erik to get his answer.

Christine closed her eyes against Erik's chest as he began stroking her silky curls. This didn't seem real. .how could they all end up so happy?

"You know," she muttered sleepily as she vaguely listened to Raoul and Meg chatter happily in the corner.

Erik looked down at his angel, feeling more at ease than he ever had, despite the fact that she had just kissed his rival. .or _ex_-rival, since he was obviously going to have to put up with his presence a lot more now that Meg and him were together. Although he was sure he could have more fun torturing the poor boy's mind. . .he smiled wickedly, but forced himself to stop. He would have to be. .tolerable to the boy for Christine and Meg's sake. He sighed, then remembered Christine had said something. He looked down at her, still laying against his chest, and asked: "Hm?"

She took a deep breath, reveling in the feeling of Erik's voice rumbling against her body. It was very soothing.

"Someone should make a book about our lives. I mean, how often does this happen. Honestly!" she insisted as Erik let out a light chuckle.

"Oh, I completely agree, Angel, though I do not believe many would believe it. ." He trailed off, pondering it. It wasn't a totally unreasonable idea.

Christine sighed. He was right, of course. "Yes, you're right. ." she looked up at him, blue eyes glowing. "We're living in a dream. And I _never_ want to wake up." And with that, she kissed him full on the lips, ignoring the others in the room, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Before he could deepen the kiss, however, Christine pulled back.

"Now tell me, Monsieur, do you plan on us marrying in Rome? Because if you do, then I'll have you know right now, I am _not _sharing a room with Meg until we get married. That woman snores like a fifty-year old drunkard."

Erik chuckled. "It's fine. You snore too, Christine, I've seen you." Christine's eyes widened. "I do not! You are lying!" Erik shook his head. Christine _did_ snore, but he found it absolutely adorable.

Obviously Christine didn't, as she was flaming red and looking at herself in astonishment. Erik put a finger under her chin and brought her gaze to his. "Don't worry," he whispered. "You're snore is absolutely endearing. And I'm not just saying that, because I've heard Meg snore as well, and I do _not _find 50-year-old drunkards very endearing at all. So you better accept my compliment, mademoiselle." Christine smiled broadly at him, before collapsing into his arms. She soon fell asleep, lulled by the comfort of Erik's steady breathing and soft caresses.

This was certainly a night she would never forget.

**XxXxXxX**

**Told you I like Raoul now! hehe. Review PLEASE. **


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